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Photographic 

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23  WEST  MAiN  STREET 

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(7^6)  872-4503 


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1 

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1 


BLACK  ROCK 


A  TALE  OF  THE  SELKIRKS 


■r 


Ralph  Connor 

Author  of  "Sky  Pilot,"  "The  Man  from  Glengarry,"  Etc,  Ete 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BV 

Prop.  George  Adam  Smith,  LL.D. 


CHICAGO 
M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  COMPANY 

407-429  Dearborn  Street 


>■* 


O  S  2  8  5  S 


168809 


BLACK  ROCK. 


The  story  of  the  book  is  true,  and  chief  of  the  failure* 
*n  the  making  of  the  book  is  this,  that  it  is  not  all  the 
truth.  The  light  is  not  bright  enough,  the  shadow  is  not 
black  enough  to  give  a  true  picture  of  tha^  bit  of  V/cstern 
life  of  which  the  writer  was  some  small  part.  The  men 
of  the  book  are  still  there  in  the  mines  and  lumber  camps 
of  the  mountains,  fighting  out  that  eternal  fight  for  man- 
hood, strong,  clean,  God-conquered.  And,  when  the  west 
winds  blow,  to  the  open  ear  the  soundfc  of  battle  come, 
telling  the  fortunes  of  the  fight. 

Because  a  man's  life  is  all  he  has,  and  because  the  only 
hope  of  the  brave  young  West  lies  in  its  men,  this  story 
is  told.  It  may  be  that  the  tragic  pity  of  a  broken  life  may 
move  some  to  pray,  and  that  that  divine  power  there  is 
in  a  single  brave  heart  to  summon  forth  hope  and  courage 
may  move  some  to  fight.  It  so,  the  tale  is  not  told  in 
^*"-  C  W.  G. 


INTRODUCTION 


1  think  I  have  met  "Ralph  Connor."  Indeed,  I  am 
sure  1  have — once  in  a  canoe  on  the  Red  River,  once  on 
the  Assinaboine,  and  twice  or  thrice  on  the  prairies  to  th* 
West.  That  was  not  the  name  he  gave  me,  but,  if  I  am 
right,  it  covers  one  of  the  most  honest  and  genial  of  the 
strong  characters  that  are  fighting  the  devil  and  doing 
good  work  for  men  all  over  the  world.  He  has  seen  with 
his  own  eyes  the  life  which  he  describes  in  this  book,  and 
has  himself,  for  some  years  of  hard  and  lonely  toil,  as- 
sisted in  the  good  influences  which  he  traces  among  its 
wild  and  often  hopeless  conditions.  He  writes  with  the 
freshness  and  accuracy  of  an  eye-witness,  with  the  style 
(as  I  think  his  readers  will  allow)  of  a  real  artist,  and 
with  the  tenderness  and  hopefulness  of  a  man  not  only 
of  faith  but  of  experience,  who  has  seen  in  fulfillment  the 
ideals  for  which  he  lives. 

The  life  to  which  he  takes  us,  though  far  oflf  and  very 
strange  to  our  tame  minds,  is  the  life  of  our  brothers. 
Into  the  Northwest  of  Canada  the  young  men  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland  have  been  pouring  (I  was  told), 
sometimes  at  the  rate  of  48,000  a  year.  Our  brothers  who 
left  home  yesterday — our  hearts  cannot  but  follow  them. 
With  these  pages  Ralph  Connor  enables  our  eyes  and 
our  minds  to  follow,  too ;  nor  do  I  think  there  is  any  one 


ft  Introduction. 

who  shall  read  this  book  and  not  find  also  that  his  con- 
science  is  quickened.  There  is  a  warfare  appointed  unto 
man  upoii  enrth,  and  its  struggles  are  nowhere  more  in- 
tense, nor  the  victories  of  the  strong,  nor  the  succors 
brought  to  the  fallen,  more  heroic,  than  on  the  fields  de- 
scribed in  Wiis  volume.  George  Adam  Smith. 


I  « 


# 


on- 
nto 
in- 
ors 
de- 


BLACK  ROCK. 


CHAPTER  1. 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  IN  A  LUMBER  CAMP. 

It  was  due  to  a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Providence* 
and  a  good  deal  to  Leslie  Graeme,  that  I  found  myself 
in  the  heart  of  the  Selkirks  for  my  Christmas  Eve  as  the 
year  1882  was  dying.  It  had  been  my  plan  to  spend  my 
Christmas  far  away  in  Toronto,  with  such  Bohemian  and 
boon  companions  as  could  be  found  in  that  cosmopolitan 
and  kindly  city.  But  Leslie  Graeme  changed  all  that,  for, 
discovering  me  in  the  village  of  Black  Rock,  with  my 
traps  all  packed,  waiting  for  the  stage  to  start  for  the 
Landing,  thirty  miles  away,  he  bore  down  upon  me  with 
resistless  force,  and  I  found  myself  recovering  from  my 
surprise  only  after  we  had  gone  in  his  lumber  sleigh  some 
six  miles  on  our  way  to  his  camp  up  in  the  mountains. 
I  was  surprised  and  much  delighted,  though  I  would  not  ' 
allow  him  to  think  so,  to  find  that  his  old-time  power  over 
me  was  still  there.  He  could  always  in  the  old  'Varsity 
days — dear,  wild  days — make  me  do  what  he  liked.  He 
was  so  handsome  and  so  reckless,  brilliant  in  his  cUsy- 


lo       Christmas  Kve  in  a  Lumber  Camp. 

work,  and  the  prince  of  half-backs  on  the  Rugby  field,  and 
with  such  power  of  fascination  as  would  "extract  the 
heart  out  of  a  wheelbarrow,"  as  Barney  Lundy  used  (o 
say.  And  thus  it  was  that  I  found  myself  just  three  weeks 
later — I  was  to  have  spent  iwo  or  three  days — on  the 
afternoon  of  the  24th  of  De  .ember,  standing  in  Graeme's 
Lumber  Camp  No.  2,  woudering  at  myself.  But  I  did 
not  regret  my  changed  plans,  for  in  those  three  weeks  I 
had  raided  a  cinnamon  bear's  den  and  had  wakened  up  a 
grizzly.  But  I  shall  let  the  grizzly  finish  the  tale ;  he  prob- 
ably sees  more  humor  in  it  than  I. 

The  camp  stood  in  a  little  clearing,  and  consisted  of  a 
group  of  three  long,  low  shanties,  with  smfller  shacks 
near  them,  all  built  of  heavy,  unhewn  logs,  wiVh  door  and 
window  in  each.  The  grub  camp,  with  cook-shed  at- 
tached, stood  in  the  middle  of  the  clearing;  at  a  little 
distance  was  the  sleeping-camp,  with  the  o^ce  built 
against  it,  and  about  a  hundred  yards  away  on  the  other 
side  of  the  clearing  stood  the  stables,  and  near  them  the 
smiddy.  The  mountains  rose  grandly  on  every  side, 
throwing  up  their  great  peaks  into  the  sky.  The  Clearing 
in  which  the  camp  stood  was  hewn  out  of  a  deiC^e  pine 
forest  that  filled  the  valley  and  climbed  half  way  up  the 
mountain  sides,  and  then  frayed  out  in  scattered  and 
stunted  trees. 

It  was  one  o '  those  wonderful  Canadian  winter  days, 
bright,  and  with  a  touch  of  sharpness  in  the  air  that  did 
not  chill,  but  warmed  the  blood  like  draughts  of  wine. 
The  men  were  up  in  the  woods,  and  the  shrill  scream  of 


Cliristmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.       ii 
• 

the  Oluejay  flasliinj^  across  the  open,  the  impiulctit  chat- 
ter of  the  .ed  s(iuirrel  from  the  top  of  the  grub  catiip,  ami 
the  pert  chirp  of  the  whisky- jack,  hopping  abont  on  the 
rubbish  heap,  witli  the  long,  lone  cry  of  the  wolf  far 
down  the  valljy,  only  made  the  silence  felt  the  mcjre. 

As  1  stood  drinking  in  with  all  my  soul  the  glorious 
beauty  and  the  silence  of  mountain  and  forest,  with  the 
Christmas  feeling  stealing  into  me,  Graeme  came  out  from 
his  office,  and,  catching  sight  of  me,  called  out,  "Glorious 
Christmas  weather,  old  chap !"  And  then,  coming  nearer, 
"Must  you  go  to-morrow?" 

"I  fear  so,"  1  replied,  knowing  well  that  the  Christmas 
feeling  was  on  him^  too. 

"I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,''  he  said,  quietly. 

I  turned  eagerly  to  persuade  him,  but  at  the  look  of 
suffering  in  his  face  the  words  died  at  my  lips,  for  we 
both  were  thinking  of  the  awful  night  of  horror  when 
all  his  bright,  brilliant  life  crashed  down  about  him  in 
black  ruin  and  shame.  I  could  only  throw  my  arm  over 
his  shoulder  and  stand  silent  beside  him.  A  sudden  jingle 
of  bells  roused  him,  and,  giving  himself  a  little  shake,  he 
exclaimed:  "There  are  the  boys  coming  home." 

Soon  the  camp  was  filled  with  men  talking,  laughing, 
chaffing,  like  light-hearted  boys. 

"They  are  a  little  wild  to-night,"  said  Graeme;  "and 
to-morrow  they'll  paint  Black  Rock  red." 

Before  many  minutes  had  gone,  the  last  teamster  was 
^'washed  up"  and  all  were  standing  about  waiting  impa- 
tiently for  the  cook's  signal — the  supper  to-night  was  to 


I  a       Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp. 

be  "something  of  a  feed" — when  the  sound  of  bells  drew 
their  attention  to  a  light  sleigh  drawn  by  a  buckskin 
broncho  coming  down  the  hillside  at  a  great  pace. 

"The  preacher,  I'll  bet,  by  his  driving,"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

"Bedad,  and  it's  him  has  the  foine  nose  for  turkcyj" 
said  Blaney,  a  good-natured,  jovial  Irishman. 

"YeS;  or  for  pay-day,  more  like,"  said  Keefe,  a  black- 
browed,  villainous  fellow  countryman  of  Blaney's,  and. 
strange  to  say,  his  great  friend. 

Big  Sandy  McNaughton,  a  Canadian  Highlander  from 
Glengarry,  rose  up  in  wrath.  "Bill  Keefe,"  said  he,  with 
deliberate  emphasis,  "you'll  just  keep  your  dirty  tongue 
off  the  minister,  and  as  for  your  pay,  it's  little  he  sees  of 
it,  or  any  one  else,  except  Mike  Slavin,  when  you're  too 
dry  to  wait  for  some  one  to  treat  you,  or  perhaps  Father 
Rvan,  when  the  fear  of  hell-fire  is  on  to  yor." 

The  men  stood  amazed  at  Sandy's  sudden  anger  an*"' 
length  of  speech. 

"Bon ;  dat's  good  for  you,  my  bully  boy,"  said  Baptiste, 
a  wiry  little  French-Canadian,  Sandy's  sworn  ally  avid  de- 
voted admirer  ever  since  the  day  when  the  big  Scotsman, 
under  great  provocation,  had  knocked  him  clean  off  the 
dump  into  the  river  and  then  jumped  in  for  him. 

It  was  not  till  afterward  I  learned  the  cause  of  Sandy's 
sudden  wrath  which  urged  him  to  such  unwonted  length 
of  speech.  It  was  not  simply  that  the  Presbyterian  blood 
carried  with  it  reverence  for  the  minister  and  contempt 
for  Papists  and  Fenians,  but  that  he  had  a  vivid  remem- 


an*^ 


I 
'I 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.       13 

brance  of  how,  only  a  month  ago,  the  minister  had  got 
him  out  of  Mike  Slavin's  saloon  and  out  of  the  clutches 
of  Keefe  and  Slavin  and  their  ^ang  of  bloodsuckers. 

Keefe  started  up  with  a  curse.  Baptiste  sprang^  to 
Sandy's  side,  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and  called  out, 
"You  keel  him.  I'll  hit  (eat)  him  uj),  me." 

It  looked  as  if  there  might  be  a  figiit,  when  a  harsh 
voice  said  in  a  low,  savage  tone,  "Stop  your  row,  you 
blank  fools;  settle  it,  if  you  want  to,  somewhere  else." 
I  turned,  and  was  amazed  to  see  old  man  Nelson,  who 
was  very  seldom  moved  to  speech. 

There  was  a  look  of  scorn  on  his  hard,  iron-gray  face, 
and  of  such  settled  fierceness  as  made  me  quite  believe 
the  tales  I  had  heard  of  his  deadly  fights  in  the  mines  at 
the  coast.  Before  any  reply  could  be  made  the  minister 
drove  up  and  called  out  in  a  cheery  voice,  "Merry  Christ- 
mas, boys!  Hello,  Sandy!  Comment  (ja  va,  Baptiste? 
How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Graeme?" 

"First  rate.  Let  me  introduce  my  friend,  Mr.  Connor, 
sometime  medical  student,  now  artist,  hunter,  and  tramp 
at  large,  but  not  a  bad  sort." 

"A.  man  to  be  envied,"  said  the  minister,  smiling.  "I 
am  glad  to  know  any  friend  of  Mr.  Graeme's." 

I  liked  Mr.  Craig  from  the  first.  He  had  good  eyes  that 
looked  straight  out  at  you,  a  clean-cut,  strong  face,  well 
set  on  his  shoulders,  and  altogether  an  upstanding,  manly 
bearing.  He  insisted  on  going  with  Sandy  to  the  stables 
to  see  Dandy,  his  broncho,  put  up. 

"Decent  fellow,"  said  Graeme ;  "but,  though  he  is  good 


I  '3  i 


ii 
I' 


14      Christmas  Kve  in  a  Lumber  Camp. 

enough  to  his  broncho,  it  is  Sandy  that's  in  his  mind 
now." 

"Does  he  come  out  often?  I  mean,  are  you  part  of  his 
parish,  so  to  speak?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  thinks  so;  and  I'm  blowed  if  lie 
doesn't  make  the  Presbyterians  of  us  think  so,  too."  And 
he  added,  after  a  pause,  "A  dandy  lot  of  parishioners  v/e 
are  for  any  man.  There's  Sandy,  viow,  he  would  kno^k 
Keefe's  head  ofif  as  a  kind  of  religious  exercise;  but  to- 
morrow Keefe  will  be  sober,  and  Sandy  will  be  drunk 
as  a  lord,  and  the  drunker  he  is  the  bettgr  Presbyterian 
he'll  be,  to  the  preacher's  disgust."  Then,  after  another 
pause,  he  added,  bitterly,  "But  it  is  not  for  me  to  throw 
rocks  at  Sandy;  I  am  not  the  same  kind  of  fool,  but  I 
aui  a  fool  of  several  other  sorts." 

Then  the  cook  came  out  and  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  tyOttom 
of  a  dishpan.  Baptiste  answered  with  a  yell,  but  though 
keenly  hungry,  no  man  would  demean  himself  to  do  other 
than  walk  with  apparent  reluctance  to  his  place  at  the 
table.  At  the  further  end  of  the  camp  was  a  big  fireplace, 
and  from  the  door  to  the  fireplace  extended  the  long  board 
tables,  covered  with  platters  of  turkey  not  too  scientific- 
ally carved,  dishes  of  potatoes,  bowls  of  apple  sauce, 
plates  of  butter,  pies,  and  smaller  dishes  distributed  at 
regular  intervals.  Two  lanterns  hanging  from  th^  roof 
and  a  row  of  candles  stuck  into  the  wall  on  either  side 
by  means  of  lit  sticks,  cast  a  dim,  weird  light  ov«f  the 
scene. 


i 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.       i 


Tliere  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  at  a  nod  troni 
Graeme,  Mr.  Craig-  rose  and  said,  "I  don't  know  how  you 
feel  about  it,  men,  but  to  me  this  looks  good  enough  to 
be  thankful  for." 

"Fire  ahead,  sir,"  called  out  a  voice  quite  respectfully, 
and  the  minister  bent  his  head  and  said : 

"For  Christ  the  Lord  who  caine  to  save  us,  for  all  the 
love  and  goodness  we  have  known,  and  for  these  Thy 
gifts  to  us  this  Christmas  night,  our  Father,  make  us 
thankful.    Amen." 

"Bon ;  dat's  fuss  rate,"  said  Baptiste.  "Seems  lak  dat's 
make  me  hit  (eat)  more  better  for  sure,"  and  then  no 
word  was  spoken  for  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  occasion 
was  far  too  solemn  and  moments  too  precious  for  any- 
thing so  empty  as  words.  But  when  the  white  piles  of 
bread  and  the  brown  piles  of  turkey  had  for  a  second 
time  vanished,  and  after  the  last  pie  had  disappeared, 
there  came  a  pause  and  hush  of  expectancy,  whereupon 
the  cook  and  cookee,  each  bearing  aloft  a  huge,  blazing 
pudding,  came  forth. 

"Hooray!"  yelled  Blaney,  "up  wid  yez!'  and,  grabbin:^ 
the  cook  by  the  shoulders  from  behind,  he  faced  him 
aboui. 

Mr.  Craig  was  the  first  to  respond,  and,  seizing  the 
cookee  in  the  same  way,  called  out,  "Squad,  fall  in !  qu'ok 
march!"    In  a  moment  every  man  was  in  the  procession. 

"St»-ike  up,  Batchees,  ye  little  angel !"  shouted  Blaney, 
the  appchation  a  concession  to  the  minister's  presence; 


i6      Christmas  Eve  lu  a  Lumber  Camp. 


■■I 


and  away  went  Baptiste  in  a  rollicking  French  song  with 
the  English  chorus : 

Then  blow,  ye  winds,  in  the  morning. 

Blow,  ye  winds,  ay  oh! 
Blow,  ye  winds,  in  the  morning, 

Blow,  blow,  blow. 

And  at  each  "blow"  every  boot  came  down  with  « 
thump  on  the  plank  floor  that  shook  the  solid  roof.  After 
the  second  round,  Mr.  Craig  jumped  upon  the  bench  and 
called  out : 

"Three  cheers  for  Billy  the  cook !" 

In  the  silence  following  the  cheers  Baptiste  was  hearo 
to  say,  "Bon!  dat's  mak  me  feel  lak  hit  dat  puddin'  alll 
hup  mesef,  me." 

"Hear  till  the  little  baste !"  said  Blaney  in  disgust. 

"Batchees,"  remonstrated  Sandy,  gravely,  "yeVe  more 
stomach  than  manners." 

"Fu  sure!  but  de  more  stomach  dat's  more  better  for 
dis  puddin',"  replied  the  little  Frenchman,  cheerfully. 

After  a  time  the  tables  were  cleared  and  pushed  biick 
to  the  wall,  and  pipes  were  produced.  In  all  attitudes 
suggestive  of  comfort  the  men  disposed  themselves  in  a 
wide  circle  about  the  fire,  which  now  roared  and  crackled 
up  the  great  wooden  chimney  hanging  from  the  roof. 
The  lumberman's  hour  of  bliss  had  arrived.  Even  old 
man  Nelson  looked  a  shade  less  melancholy  than  usual  as 
he  sat  alone,  well  away  from  the  fire,  smoking  steadily 
and  silently.  When  the  second  pipes  were  well  a-going  one 
of  the  men  took  d.>wn  a  violin  from  the  wall  and  handed 
it  to  Laci.!an  Campbell.    There  were  two  brothers  Camp- 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.       17 


for 


bell,  just  out  from  Argyll,  typical  Highlanders — Lachlan, 
(lark,  silent,  melancholy,  with  the  face  of  a  mvstic,  and 
Angus,  red-haired,  quick,  impulsive,  and  devoted  to  his 
brother,  a  devotion  !ie  thought  proper  to  cover  uader 
biting,  sarcastic  speech. 

Lachlan,  after  much  protestation,  interspersed  with 
jibes  from  his  brother,  took  the  violin,  and,  in  response  to 
the  call  from  all  sides,  struck  up  "Lord  Macdonald's 
Reel."  In  a  moment  the  floor  was  filled  with  dancers, 
whooping  and  cracking  their  fingers  in  the  wildest  man- 
ner. Then  Baptiste  did  the  "Red  River  Jig,"  a  most  in- 
tricate and  difficult  series  of  steps,  the  men  keeping  time 
to  the  music  with  hands  and  feet. 

When  the  jig  was  finished,  Sandy  called  for  "L^chabcr 
No  More,"  but  Campbell  said,  "No,  no!  I  cannot  play 
that  to-night.    Mr.  Craig  will  play." 

Craig  took  the  violin,  and  at  the  first  note  I  knew  he 
was  no  ordinary  player.  I  did  not  recognize  the  music, 
but  it  was  soft  and  thrilling,  and  got  in  by  the  heart,  till 
every  one  was  thinking  his  tenderest  and  saddest 
thoughts. 

After  he  had  played  two  or  three  exquisite  bits,  he  gave 
Campbell  his  violin,  saying,  "Now,  "Lochaber,"  Lachlan. 

Without  a  word  Lachlan  began,  not  "Lochaber"-— he 
was  not  ready  for  that  yet — but  "The  Flowers  o'  the  For- 
est,*' and  from  that  wandered  through  "Auld  Robin  Gray" 
and  "Land  o'  the  Leal,"  and  so  got  at  last  to  that  m»st 
soul-subduing  of  Scottish  laments,  "Lochaber  No  Mare." 
At  the  first  strain  his  brother,  who  had  thrown  himself  on 


i8      Christmas  Eve  in  r.  Lumber  Camp. 


ni 


II'  I! 


\\ 


some  blankets  behind  the  fire,  turned  over  on  his  face, 
feigning  sleep.  Sandy  McNaughton  took  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth  and  sat  up  straight  and  stiff,  staring  into  va- 
cancy, and  Graeme,  beyond  the  fire,  drew  a  short,  sharp 
breath.  We  hi;d  often  sat,  Graeme  and  I,  in  our  student 
days,  in  the  drawing-room  at  home,  listening  to  his  father 
wailing  out  "Lochaber"  upon  the  pipes,  and  I  well  knew 
ihat  the  awful  minor  strains  were  now  eating  their  way 
into  his  soul. 

Over  and  over  again  the  Highlander  played  his  lament. 
He  had  long  since  forgotten  us,  and  was  seeing  visions  of 
the  hills  and  lochs  and  glens  of  his  far-away  native  land, 
and  making  us,  too,  see  strange  things  out  of  the  dim  past, 
I  glanced  at  old  man  Nelson,  and  was  startled  at  the 
eager,  almost  piteous,  look  in  his  eyes,  and  I  wished 
Campbell  would  stop.  Mr.  Craig  caught  my  eye,  and, 
stepping  over  to  Campbell,  held  out  his  hand  for  the  violin. 
Lingeringly  and  lovingly  the  Highlander  drew  out  the 
last  strain  and  silently  gave  the  minister  his  instrument. 

Without  a  moment's  pause,  and  while  the  spell  of 
"Lochaber"  was  still  upon  us,  the  minister,  with  exquisite 
skill,  fell  into  the  refrain  of  that  simple  and  beautiful 
ramp-meeting  hymn,  *The  Sweet  By  and  By."  After 
playing  the  verse  through  once,  he  sang  softly  the  refrain. 
After  the  first  verse  the  men  joined  in  the  chorus ;  at  first 
tim-idly,  but  by  the  time  the  third  verse  was  reached  they 
were  shouting  with  throats  full  open,  "We  shall  meet  on 
that  beautiful  shore."  When  I  looked  at  Nelson  the  eager 
light  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes,  and  in  its  place  was  a  kind 


up. 


Christmas  Kve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.       19 


1  his  face, 
5ipe  out  of 
ig  into  va- 
lort,  sharp 
lur  student 
•  his  father 
well  knew 
their  way 

his  lament. 

■  visions  of 

ative  land, 

e  dim  past, 

;led  at  the 

I  wished 

eye,  and, 

the  violin. 

out  the 

strument. 

spell  of 

exquisite 

beautiful 

"     After 

le  refrain. 

;  at  first 

hed  they 

meet  on 

he  eager 

s  a  kind 


of  determined  hopelessness,  as  if  in  this  new  music  he  had 
no  part. 

After  the  voices  had  ceased,  Mr.  Craig  played  again 
the  refrain,  more  and  more  softly  and  slowly ;  then,  laying 
the  violin  on  Campbell's  knees,  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
his  little  Bible,  and  said : 

"^len,  with  Mr.  Graeme's  permission,  I  want  to  read 
you  something  this  Christmas  Eve.  You  will  all  have 
heard  it  before,  but  you  will  like  it  none  the  less  for 
that." 

His  voice  was  soft,  but  clear  and  penetrating,  as  he 
read  the  eternal  story  of  the  angels  and  the  shepherds 
and  the  Babe.  And  as  he  read,  a  slight  motion  of  the 
hand  or  a  glance  of  an  eye  made  us  see,  as  he  was 
seeing,  that  whole  radiant  drama.  The  wonder,  the  timid 
joy,  the  tenderness,  the  mystery  of  it  all,  were  borne  in 
upon  us  with  overpowering  effect.  He  closed  the  book, 
and  in  the  same  low,  clear  voice  went  on  to  tell  us  how, 
in  his  home  years  ago,  he  used  to  stand  on  Christmas  Eve, 
listening  in  thrilling  delight  to  his  mother  telling  him  the 
story,  and  how  she  used  to  make  him  see  the  shepherds 
and  hear  the  sheep  bleating  near  by,  and  how  the  sudden 
burst  of  glory  used  to  make  his  heart  jump. 

"I  used  to  be  a  little  afraid  of  the  angels,  because  a  boy 
told  me  they  v/ere  ghosts,  but  iny  mother  told  me  better, 
and  I  didn't  fear  them  any  more.  And  the  Baby,  the  dear 
little  Baby — we  all  love  a  baby."  There  was  a  quick,  dry 
sob ;  it  was  from  Nelson.  "I  used  to  peek  through  un^er 
to  see  the  little  one  in  the  straw,  and  wonder  what  things 


20      Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp. 


swaddling  clothes  were.  Oh,  it  was  all  so  real  and  so 
beautiful !"  He  paused,  and  1  cjuld  hear  the  men  breath- 
ing. 

"Btit  one  Christmas  Eve,"  he  went  on,  in  a  lower. 
sweeter  tone,  "there  was  no  one  to  tell  me  the  story,  and 
I  grew  to  forget  it,  and  went  away  to  college  and  learned 
to  think  that  it  was  only  a  child's  tale  and  was  not  for 
men.  Then  bad  days  came  to  me  and  worse,  and  1  began 
to  lose  my  grip  of  myself,  of  life,  of  hone,  of  goodness, 
till  one  black  Christmas,  in  the  slums  of  a  far-away  city, 
when  I  had  given  up  all,  and  the  devil's  arms  were  about 
me,  I  heard  the  story  again.  And  as  I  listened,  with  a 
bitter  ache  in  my  heart,  for  I  had  put  it  all  behind  me,  I 
suddenly  found  myself  peeking  under  the  shepherd's 
arms  with  a  child's  wonder  at  the  Baby  in  the  straw. 
Then  it  came  over  me  like  great  waves,  that  His  name 
was  Jesus,  because  it  was  He  that  should  save  men  from 
their  sins.  Save !  Save !  The  waves  kept  beating  upon 
my  ears,  and  before  I  knew,  I  had  called  out,  "Oh!  can 
He  save  me?'*  It  was  in  a  little  mission  meeting  on  one 
of  the  side  streets,  and  they  seemed  to  be  used  to  that 
scrt  of  thing  there,  for  no  one  was  surprised ;  and  a  young 
fellow  leaned  across  the  aisle  to  me  and  said,  "Why !  you 
just  bet  He  can !"  His  surprise  that  I  should  doubt,  his 
bright  face  and  confident  tone,  gave  me  hope  that  perhaps 
it  might  be  so.     I  held  to  that  hope  with  all  my  soul, 

and "  stretching  up  his  arms,  and  with  a  quick  glow 

in  his  face  and  a  little  break  in  his  voice,  "He  hasn't  failed 
me  yet ;  not  once,  not  once !" 


•  t 

■ 

Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp.      sei 

He  stopped  quite  short,  and  I  felt  a  good  deal  like 

making  a  fool  of  myself,  for  in  those  days  I  had  not  made 
up  my  mind  about  these  things.  Graeme,  poor  old  chap, 
was  gazing  at  him  with  a  sad  yearning  in  his  dark  eyes ; 
big  Sandy  was  sitting  very  stiff,  and  staring  harder  than 
ever  into  the  fire;  Baptiste  was  trembling  with  excite- 
ment; Blaney  was  openly  wiping  the  tears  away.  But 
the  face  that  held  my  eyes  ''as  that  of  old  man  Nelson. 
It  was  white,  fierce,  hungry-looking,  his  sunken  eyes 
burning,  his  lips  parted  as  if  to  cry. 

The  minister  went  on :  "I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  ti.is, 
men ;  it  all  came  over  me  with  a  rush ;  but  it  is  true,  every 
word,  and  not  a  word  will  I  take  back.  And,  what's  more, 
I  can  tell  you  this,  what  He  did  for  me  He  can  do  for  any 
man,  .ind  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  what's  behind 

him,  and "  leaning  slightly  forward,  and  with  a  little 

thrill  of  pathos  vibrating  in  his  voice "Oh,  boys,  why 

don't  you  give  Him  a  chance  at  you  ?  Without  Him  you'll 
never  be  the  men  you  want  to  be,  and  you'll  never  get  the 
better  of  that  that's  keeping  some  of  you  now  from  going 
back  home.  You  know  you'll  never  go  back  till  you're 
the  men  you  want  to  be."  Then,  lifting  up  his  face,  and 
throwing  back  his  head,  he  said,  as  if  to  himself:  "Jesus! 
He  shall  save  His  people  from  their  sins/*  and  then :  "Let 
us  pray." 

Graeme  leaned  forward  with  his  face  in  his  hands; 
Baptiste  and  Blaney  dropped  on  their  knees;  Sandy,  the 
Campbells^  and  some  others,  stood  U(k  Old  man  Nelfon 
held  his  eyes  stea^Jy  on  thfe  minister. 


22      Christmas  Kve  in  a  Lumber  Camp. 

Only  once  before  had  I  seen  that  look  on  a  human  face 
A  young  fellow  had  broken  through  the  ice  on  the  river 
at  home,  and  as  the  black  water  was  dragging  his  fingers 
one  by  one  from  the  slippery  edges,  there  came  over  his 
face  that  same  look.  I  used  to  wake  up  for  many  a  night 
after  in  a  sweat  of  horror,  seeing  the  white  face,  with  its 
parting  lips,  and  its  piteous,  dumb  appeal,  and  the  black 
water  slowly  sucking  it  down. 

Nelson's  face  brought  it  all  back ;  but  during  the  prayer 
the  face  changed,  and  seemed  to  settle  into  resolve  of 
some  sort,  stern,  almost  gloomy,  as  of  a  man  with  his  last 
chance  before  him. 

After  the  prayer  Mr.  Craig  invited  the  men  to  a  Christ- 
mas dinner  next  day  in  Black  Rock.  "And  because  you 
are  an  independent  lot,  we'll  charge  you  half  a  dollar  for 
dinner  and  the  evening  show."  Then,  Leaving  a  bundle  of 
magazines  and  illustrated  papers  on  the  table — a  godsend 
to  the  men — he  said  good-by  and  went  out. 

I  was  to  go  with  t!ie  minister,  so  I  jumped  into  the 
sleigh  first,  and  waited  while  he  said  good-by  to  Graeme, 
who  had  been  hard  hit  by  the  whole  service,  and  seemed 
to  want  to  say  something.  I  heard  Mr.  Craig  say,  cheer- 
fully and  confidently,  "It's  a  true  bill ;  try  Him." 

Sandy,  who  had  been  steadying  Dandy  while  that  in- 
teresting broncho  was  attempting,  with  great  success,  to 
balance  himself  on  his  hind  legs,  came  to  say  good-by. 
"Come  and  see  me  first  thing,  Sandy." 

"Ay !  I  know ;  Fll  see  ye,  Mr.  Craig,"  said  Sandy,  ear- 
nestly, as  Dandy  dashed  off  at  a  full  gallop  across  the 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp,       23 

clearing  and  over  the  bridge,  steadying  down  when  he 
rcac!:cJ  the  hill. 

"Steady,  you  idiot  1" 

This  was  to  Dandy,  who  had  taken  a  sudden  side  spring 
into  the  deep  snow,  almost  upsetting  us.  A  man  stepped 
out  from  the  shadow.  It  was  old  man  Nelson.  He  came 
straight  to  the  sleigh,  and,  ignoring  my  presence  com- 
pletely, said : 

"Mr.  Craig,  are  you  dead  sure  of  this  ?    Will  it  work  ?" 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Craig,  taking  him  up  promptly, 
"can  Jesus  Christ  save  you  from  your  sins  and  make  a 
man  of  you?'* 

The  old  man  nodded,  keeping  his  hungry  eyes  on  the 
other's  face. 

"Well,  here's  His  message  to  you :  'The  Son  of  I\Ian  is 
come  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost.'  "  . 

"Tome?    To  me?"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly. 

"Listen ;  this,  too,  is  His  word :  'Him  that  cometh  unto 
Me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out !'  That's  for  you,  for  here 
you  are,  coming." 

"You  don't  know  me,  Mr.  Craig.  I  left  my  baby  fifteen 
years  ago  because " 

"Stop  I"  said  the  minister.  "Don't  tell  me,  at  least  not 
to-night ;  perhaps  never.  Tell  Him  who  knows  it  all  now, 
and  who  never  betrays  a  secret.  Have  it  out  with  Him. 
Don't  be  afraid  to  trust  Him." 

Nelson  looked  at  him  with  his  face  quivering,  and  said 
in  a  husky  voice,  "If  this  is  no  good,  it's  hell  for  mc." 


j4      Christmas  Eve  iu  a  I.umber  Camp. 

**lf  it  is  no  good,"  replied  Craig,  almost  sternly,  "it's 
hell  for  all  of  us." 

The  old  man  sttaightened  himself  up,  looked  up  at  the 
stars,  then  back  at  Mr.  Craig,  then  at  mc,  aiul,  drawing  a 
deep  breath,  said,  "I'll  try  Him."  As  he  was  turning 
away  the  minister  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  said, 
quietly,  "Keep  an  eye  on  Sandy  to-morrow." 

Nelflon  nodded,  and  we  went  on ;  but  before  wc  took  the 
next  turn  I  looked  back  and  saw  what  brought  a  lump  into 
my  throat.  It  was  old  man  Nelson  on  his  knees  in 
the  snow,  with  his  hands  spread  tipward  to  the  stars,  and  I 
wondered  if  there  was  any  One  above  the  stars,  and 
nearer  than  the  stars,  who  could  see.  And  then  the  trees 
hid  him  from  my  sight. 


CHAPTER  !I. 


THE  BLACK  ROCK  CHRISTMAS. 

Many  strange  Christmas  days  have  I  seen,  but  tlMt 
wild  Black  Rock  Christmas  stands  out  strangest  of  all. 
While  I  was  revelling  in  my  delicious  second  morning 
sleep,  just  awake  enough  to  enjoy  it,  Mr.  Craig  came  ab- 
ruptly, announcing  breakfast,  and  adding,  "Hope  you  are 
in  good  shape,  for  we  have  our  work  before  us  this  day." 

"Hello !"  I  replied,  still  half  asleep,  and  anxious  to  hide 
from  the  minister  that  I  was  trying  to  gain  a  few  more 
moments  of  snoozing  delight,  "what's  abroad?" 

"The  devil,"  he  answered,  shortly,  and  with  such  em- 
phasis that  I  sat  bolt  upright,  looking  anxiously  about. 

"Oh!  No  need  for  alarm.  He's  not  after  you  par- 
ticularly— at  least  not  to-day,"  said  Craig,  with  a  shadow 
of  a  smile.  "But  he  is  going  about  in  good  style,  I  can 
tell  you." 

By  this  time  I  was  quite  awake.  "Well,  what  particu- 
lar style  does  His  Majesty  aflfect  this  morning?" 

He  pulled  out  a  showbill.  "Peculiarly  gaudy  and  ef- 
fective, is  it  not  ?" 

The  items  announced  were  sufficiently  attractive.  The 
'Frisco  Opera  Company  were  to  produce  the  "screaming 
farce,  'The  Gay  and  Giddy  Dude',"  after  which  there  was 
to  be  a  "Grand  Ball,"  during  which  the  "Kalifornia  Fe- 


26 


The  Black  Rock  Cliristmas. 


male  Kickers"  were  to  do  some  fancy  figures ;  the  wiiole 
to  be  followed  by  a  "big  supper,"  with  "two  free  driiiks  to 
every  man  and  one  to  the  lady,"  and  all  for  the  insig- 
nificant  sum  of  two  dollars. 

"Can't  you  go  one  better  ?"  I  said. 

He  looked  inquiringly  and  a  little  disgustedly  at  me. 

"What  can  you  do  against  free  drinks  and  a  dance,  not 
to  speak  of  the  'High  Kickers'?"  he  groaned. 

"No!"  he  continued;  "it's  a  clean  beat  for  us  to-day. 
The  miners  and  lumbermen  will  have  in  their  pockets  ten 
thousand  dollars,  and  every  dollar  burning  a  hole;  and 
Slavin  and  his  gang  will  get  most  of  it.  But,"  he  added, 
"you  must  have  breakfast.  You'll  find  a  tub  in  the 
kitchen ;  don't  be  afraid  to  splas'i.  It  is  the  best  I  have  to 
offer  you." 

The  tub  sounded  inviting,  and  before  many  minutes  had 
passed  I  was  in  a  delightful  glow,  the  effect  of  cold  water 
and  ci  rough  towel,  and  that  consciousness  of  virtue  that 
comes  to  a  man  who  has  had  courage  to  face  his  cold  bath 
on  a  winter  morning. 

The  breakfast  was  laid  with  fine  taste.  A  diminutive 
pine-tree,  in  a  pot  hung  round  with  wintergreen,  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  table^ 

"Well,  now,  this  looks  good ;  porridge,  beefsteak,  pota- 
toes, toast,,  and  maimalade." 

"I  hope  you  v;ill  enjoy  it  all." 

There  was  not  m.uch  talk  over  our  meal.  Mr.  Craig 
was  evidently  preoccupied,  and  as  blue  as  hi?  politeness 
would  allow  him.     Slavin's  victory  weighed  npon  his 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas, 


27 


i3 


\ 


spirits.  Finally  he  burst  out,  "Look  here!  I  can't,  1 
won't  stand  it ;  something  must  be  done.  Last  Christmas 
'A  little  suburb  of  hdV  It  was  something  too  awful. 
And  at  the  end  of  it  all  one  young  fellow  was  found  dead 
in  his  shack,  and  twenty  or  more  crawled  back  to  the 
camps,  leaving  their  three  months'  pay  with  Slavin  and  his 
suckers. 

"I  won't  stand  it,  I  say."  He  turned  fiercely  on  me. 
"What's  to  be  done?" 

This  rather  took  me  aback,  for  I  had  troubled  myself 
with  nothing  of  this  sort  in  my  life  before,  being  fully  oc- 
cupied in  keeping  myself  out  of  difficulty,  and  allowing 
others  the  same  privilege.  So  I  ventured  the  consolation 
that  he  had  done  his  part,  and  that  a  spree  more  or  less 
would  not  make  much  difference  to  these  men.  But  th : 
next  moment  I  wished  I  Ihad  been  slower  in  speech,  for  he 
swiftly  faced  me,  and  his  words  came  like  <i  torrent. 

'  God  forgive  you  that  heartless  word !  Do  you 
know — ?  But  no;  you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying. 
You  don't  know  that  these  men  have  been  clambering  for 
dear  life  out  of  a  fearful  pit  for  three  months  past,  ano 
d.NJng  good  climbing,  too,  poor  cliaps  You  don't  think 
thai  some  of  them,  have  wives,  most  of  them  mothers  and 
sisters,  in  the  East,  or  across  the  sea,  for  whose  salcc  thev 
are  slaving  here;  the  miners  hoping  to  save  enough  to 
bring  their  families  to  this  homeless  place,  the  rest  to  make 
enough  to  go  back  with  credit.  Why,  there's  Nixon, 
miner,  splendid  chap;  has  been  here  for  two  years,  :\\\  ] 
<Jrawing  the  highest  pay.     Twice  he  has  been  in  sight  of 


28 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


5- 
r 
I 


his  heaven,  for  he  can't  speak  of  his  wife  and  babies  with- 
out breaking  up,  and  twice  that  slick  son  of  the  devil — 
that's  Scripture,  mind  you — Slavin  got  him,  and  'rolled' 
him,  as  the  boys  say.  He  went  back  to  the  mines  broken 
in  body  and  in  heart.  He  says  this  is  his  third  and  last 
chance.  H  Slavin  gets  him,  his  wife  and  babies  will  never 
see  him  on  earth  or  in  heaven.  There  is  Sandy,  too,  and 
the  rest.  And,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  and  with  the 
curious  little  thrill  of  pathos  in  his  voice,  ''this  is  the  day 
the  Saviour  came  to  the  world."  He  paused,  and  then, 
with  a  sad  smile,  "But  I  don't  want  to  abuse  you." 

"Do,  I  enjoy  it,  I'm  a  beast,  a  selfish  beast ;"  for  some- 
how his  intense,  blazing  earnestness  made  me  feel  uncom- 
fortably small. 

"What  have  we  to  offer  ?"  I  demanded. 

"Wait  till  T  have  got  these  things  cleared  away,  and 
my  housekeeping  done." 

I  pressed  my  services  upon  him,  somewhat  feebly,  I 
own,  for  I  can't  bear  dishwater ;  but  he  rejected  my  offer. 

"I  don't  like  trusting  my  china  to  the  hands  of  a  tender- 
foot." 

"Quite  right,  though  your  china  would  prove  an  excel- 
lent means  of  defense  at  long  range."  It  was  delf,  a  quar- 
ter of  an  inch  thick.  So  I  smoked  while  he  washed  up^ 
swept,  dusted,  and  arranged  the  room. 

After  the  room  was  ordered  to  his  taste,  we  proceeded 
to  hold  council.  He  could  offer  dinner,  magic  lantern, 
music.    "We  can   fill   in  time  for  two  hours,  but,"  he 


/ 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


29 


/ 


added  gloomily,  "we  can't  beat  tlie  dance  and  the  'High 
Kickers.' " 

"Have  you  nothing  new  or  startling  ?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No  kind  of  show?    Dog  show?    Snake  charmer?" 

"Slavin  has  a  monopoly  of  the  snakes." 

Then  he  added,  hesitatingly,  "There  was  an  old  Punch- 
and-Judy  chap  here  last  year,  but  he  died.  Whisky 
again." 

"What  happened  to  his  show?" 

"The  Black  Rock  Hotel  man  took  it  for  board  and 
whisky  bill.    He  has  it  still,  I  suppose." 

I  did  not  relish  the  business;  but  I  hated  to  see  him 
beaten,  so  I  ventured,  I  have  run  a  Punch-and-Judy  in  an 
amateur  way  at  the  'Varsity." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  yell. 

"You  have!  you  mean  to  say  it?  We've  got  theml 
We've  beaten  them!"  He  had  an  extraordinary  way  of 
taking  your  help  for  granted.  "The  miner  chaps,  mostly 
English  and  Welsh,  went  mad  over  the  poor  old  showman, 
and  made  him  so  wealthy  that  in  sheer  gratitude  he  drank 
himself  to  death." 

He  walked  up  and  down  in  high  excitement  and  in  such 
evident  delight  that  I  felt  pledged  to  my  best  effort. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "first  the  poster.  We  must  beat  them  in 
that." 

He  brought  me  large  sheets  of  brown  paper,  and  alter 
two  hours'  hard  work  I  had  half  a  dozen  pictorial  show- 


y 


30 


The  Black  Rock  Cbrisluia^i. 


I 


bills,  done  in  gorgeous  colors  and  striking  designs. 
They  were  good,  if  I  do  say  it  myself. 

The  turkey,  the  magic  lantern,  the  Punch  and  Judy 
show  were  all  there,  the  last  with  a  crowd  before  it  iii 
gaping  delight.  A  few  explanatory  words  were  thrown 
in,  emphasizing  the  highly  artistic  nature  of  the  Punch 
and  Judy  entertainment. 

Craig  was  delighted,  and  proceeded  to  perfect  his  plans. 
He  had  some  half  a  dozen  young  men,  four  young  ladies, 
and  eight  or  ten  matrons,  upon  whom  he  could  depend  for 
help.  These  he  organized  into  a  vigilance  committee 
charged  with  the  duty  of  preventing  miners  and  lumber- 
men from  getting  away  to  Slavin's.  "Tlie  critical 
moments  will  be  immediately  before  and  after  dinner,  and 
then  again  after  the  show  is  over,"  he  explained.  "The 
first  two  crises  must  be  left  to  the  care  of  Punch  and  Judy, 
and  as  for  the  last,  I  am  not  yet  sure  what  shall  be  done ;" 
but  I  saw  he  had  something  in  his  head,  for  he  added,  *T 
shall  see  Mrs.  Mavor." 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor?"  I  asked.  But  he  made  no 
reply.  He  was  a  born  fighter,  and  he  put  the  fighting 
spirit  into  us  all.     We  were  bound  to  win. 

The  sports  were  to  begin  at  2  o'clock.  By  lunch- 
time  everything  was  in  readiness.  After  lunch  I  was  hav- 
ing a  quiet  smoke  in  Craig's  shack  when  he  rushed  in, 
saying 

"The  battle  will  be  lost  before  it  is  fought.  If  we  lose 
Quatre  Bras,  we  shall  never  get  to  Waterloo." 

"What's  up?" 


I 


I 


y 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


31 


"Slavm,  just  now.  Tbe  miners  are  coming  in,  and  he 
will  have  them  in  tow  in  half  an  hour." 

He  looked  at  me,  appealingly.    I  knew  what  he  wanted. 

"All  right;  I  suppose  I  must,  but  it  is  an  awful  bore 
that  a  man  can't  have  a  quiet  smoke/* 

"You're  not  half  a  bad  fellow,"  he  replied,,  smiling.  "I 
shall  get  the  ladies  to  furnish  coffee  inside  the  booth. 
You  furnish  them  intellectual  nourishment  in  front  with 
dear  old  Punch  and  Judy." 

He  sent  a  boy  with  a  bell  round  the  village  announcing, 
"Punch  and  Judy  in  front  of  the  Christmas  booth  besidt 
the  church ;"  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  I  shrieked 
and  sweated  in  that  awful  little  pen.  But  it  was  almost 
worth  it  to  hear  the  shouts  of  approval  and  laughter  that 
greeted  my  performance.  It  was  cold  work  standing  about, 
so  that  the  crowd  was  quite  ready  to  respond  when  Punch, 
after  being  duly  hanged,  came  forward  and  invited  all  into 
the  booth  for  the  hot  coffee  which  Judy  had  ordered. 

In  they  trooped,  and  Ouatre  Bras  was  won. 

No  sooner  were  the  miners  safely  engaged  with  their 
coffee  than  I  heard  a  great  noise  of  bells  and  of  men  shout- 
ing ;  and  on  reaching  the  street  I  saw  that  the  men  from 
the  lumber  camp  were  coming  in.  Two  immense  sleighs, 
decorated  with  ribbons  and  spruce  boughs,  each  drawn 
by  a  four-horse  team,  gayly  adorned,  filled  with  some  fifty 
men,  singing  and  shouting  with  all  their  might,  werecom- 
ing  down  the  hill  load  at  full  gallop.  Round  the  corner 
they  swung,  dashed  at  full  speed  across  the  bridge  and 
down  the  street,  and  puHcd  up  after  they  had  made  the 


y 


ja 


Tbe  Black  Rock  Cluistnias. 


iff 


I 


circuit  of  a  block,  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  onlookeru 
Among  others,  Slavin  sauntered  up  good-naturedly,  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable  to  Sandy  and  those  who  were  help- 
ing to  unhitch  his  team. 

"Oh,  you  need  not  take  trouble  with  me  or  my  team, 
Mike  Slavin.  Batchees  and  me  and  the  boys  can  look 
after  them  fine,"  said  Sandy,  coolly. 

This  rejecting  of  hospitality  was  perfectly  understood 
by  Slavin  and  by  all. 

"Dat's  too  bad,  heh?"  said  Baptiste,  wickedly;  "and, 
Sandy,  he's  got  good  money  on  his  pocket  for  sure,  too." 
The  boys  laughed,  and  Slavin,  joining  in,  turned  away 
with  Keefe  and  Blaney ;  but  by  the  look  in  his  eye  I  knew 
he  was  playing  "Br'er  Rabbit,"  and  lying  lev. 

Mr.  Craig  just  then  came  up.  "Hello,  boys !  too  late  for 
Punch  and  Judy,  but  just  in  time  for  hot  coffee  and 
doughnuts." 

"Bon;  dat's  fuss  rate,"  said  Baptiste,  heartily;  "where 
you  keep  him  ?" 

"Up  in  the  tent  next  the  church  there.  The  miners  are 
all  in." 

"Ah,  dat  so?  Dat's  Kid  news  for  the  shanty-men,  heh, 
Sandy?"  said  the  little  Frenchman,  dolefully. 

"There  was  a  clothes-basket  full  of  doughnuts  and  a 
boiler  of  coffee  left  as  I  passed  just  now,"  said  Craig  en- 
couragingly. 

"Allons,  mes  garcons ;  vite  1  never  say  keel !"  cried  Bap- 
tiste, excitedly,  stripping  off  the  harness. 

But  Sandy  would  not  leave  the  horses  till  they  were 


i 


y 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


33 


»» 


carefully  rubbed  down,  blanketed,  and  fed.  for  he  was  en- 
{.-red  for  the  four-horse  race  and  it  behooved  him  to  do 
!.is  best  to  win.  Besides,  he  scorned  to  hurry  himself  for 
anything  so  unimportant  as  eating;  that  he  considered 
hardly  worthy  even  of  Bapciste.  Mr.  Craig  managed  to 
get  a  word  with  him  before  he  went  oflf,  and  I  saw  Sandy 
solemnly  and  emphatically  shake  his  head,  saying,  "Ah  I 
we'll  beat  him  this  day,"  and  I  gathered  that  he  was  added 
to  the  vigilance  committee. 

Old  man  Nelson  was  busy  with  his  own  team.  He 
turned  slowly  at  Mr.  Craig's  greeting,  "How  is  it,  Nel- 
son ?"  and  it  was  with  a  very  grave  voice  he  answered,  "I 
hardly  know,  sir;  but  I  am  not  gone  yet,  though  it  seems 
little  to  hold  to." 

"All  you  want  for  a  grip  is  what  your  hand  can  eover. 
What  would  you  have  ?  And,  besides,  do  you  know  why 
you  are  not  gone  yet  ?" 

The  old  man  waited,  looking  at  the  minister,  gravely. 

"Because  He  hasn't  let  go  His  grip  of  you." 

"How  do  you  know  He's  gripped  me?" 

"Now,  look  here.  Nelson,  do  you  want  to  quit  this  thing 
and  give  it  all  up?" 

"No,  no !  For  Heaven's  sake,  no !  Why,  do  you  tliink 
I  have  lost  it  ?"  said  Nelson,  almost  piteously, 

''Wen,  He's  keener  about  it  than  you ;  and  I'll  bet  you 
havent  thought  it  worth  while  to  thank  Him." 

"To  thank  Him,"  he  repeated,  almost  stwpidly, 
"for-      " 


f» 


9^ 


34 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


"For  keeping  you  where  you  are  over  night,"  said  Mr. 
Craig,  almost  sternly. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  the  minister,  a  light  growing  in 
Ms  eyes. 

"You're  right.  Thank  God,  you're  right "  And  then 
he  turned  quickly  away,  and  went  into  the  stable  behind 
his  team.  It  was  a  minute  before  he  came  out.  Over  his 
face  there  was  a  trembling  joy. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you  to-day  ?"  he  asked  humbly. 

"Indeed  you  just  can,"  said  the  minister,  taking  his 
hand,  and  shaking  it  very  warmly ;  and  then  he  told  him 
Slavin's  programme  and  ours. 

"Sandy  is  all  right  till  after  his  race.  After  that  is  his 
time  of  danger,"  said  the  minister. 

"I'll  stay  with  him,  sir,"  said  old  Nelson,  in  t':e  tone  of  ^ 
man  taking  a  covenant,  and  immediately  set  jfif  for  the 
coffee-tent. 

"Here  conies  another  recruit  for  your  corps,"  I  said, 
pointing  to  Leslie  Graeme,  who  was  coming  down  the 
street  at  that  moment  in  his  light  sleigh. 

"I  am  not  so  sure.     Do  you  think  you  could  get  him  ?" 

I  laughed.    "You  are  a  good  one." 

"Well,"  he  replied,  half  defiantly,  "is  not  this  your  fight, 
too?" 

"You  make  me  think  so,  though  I  am  bound  to  say  I 
hardly  recognize  myself  to-day.  But  here  goes,"  and  be- 
fore I  knew  it  I  was  describing  our  plans  to  Graeme, 
growing  more  and  more  enthusiastic  as  he  sat  in  his 
sleigh,  listening  with  a  quizzical  smile  I  didn't  quite  like. 


I 
• 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


35 


t. 


I  I 


I 


is 


"Ilr'g  got  you,  too,"  he  said  ;  "I  fcarcrl  so." 

"Well,''  [  laughed,  "perhaps  so.  But  1  want  to  lick 
that  man  Slavin.  I've  just  seen  him,  and  he's  just  what 
Craig  calls  him,  *a  slick  son  of  the  devil.'  Don't  be 
shocked ;  he  says  it  is  Scripture." 

"Revised  version,"  said  Graeme,  gravely,  while  Craig 
looked  a  little  abashed. 

"What  is  assigned  me,  I\Ir.  Craig?  for  I  know  that  this 
man  is  simply  your  agent." 

I  repudiated  the  idea,  while  Mr.  Craig  said  nothing. 

"What's  my  part?"  demanded  Graeme. 

"Well,*'  said  Mr.  Criig,  hesitatingly,  "of  course  I  would 
do  nothing  till  I  had  consulted  you ;  but  I  want  a  man  to 
take  my  place  at  the  sports.     I  am  referee." 

"That  all  right,"  said  Graeme,  with  an  air  of  relief;  "1 
expected  vSomething  hard." 

"And  then  T  thought  you  would  not  mind  presiding  at 
dinner — I  want  it  to  go  off  well." 

"Did  you  notice  that?"  said  Graeme  to  me.  "Not  a 
bad  touch,  eh?" 

"That's  nothing  to  the  way  he  touched  me.  Wait  and 
learn,"  I  answered,  while  Craig  looked  quite  distressed. 
"He'll  do  it,  Mr.  Craig,  never  fear,"  I  said,  "and  any  other 
little  duty  that  may  occur  to  you." 

"Now  that's  too  bad  of  you.  That  is  all  I  want,  honor 
bright,"  he  replied ;  adding,  as  he  turned  away,  "you  are 
just  in  time  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  Mr.  Graeme.  Now  I 
must  see  Mrs.  Mavor." 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor  ?"  I  demanded  of  Graeme.    . 


36 


The  Black  Rock  Christuw 


Ot 


"Mrs.  Mavor?    The  miners'  guardian  angel." 

We  put  up  the  horses  and  set  off  for  coffee.  As  we  ap- 
proached the  booth,  Graeme  caught  sight  of  the  Punch 
and  Judy  show,  stood  still,  in  amazement,  and  exclaimed, 
"Can  the  dead  live?'* 

"Punch  and  Judy  never  die,"  I  replied,  solemnly. 

"But  the  old  manipulator  is  dead  enough,  poor  old 
beggar!" 

"But  he  left  his  mantle,  as  you  see." 

He  looked  at  me  a  moment. 

"What !  do  you  mean,  you ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean." 

"He  is  a  great  man,  that  Craig  fellow — a  truly  great 


>> 


man. 

And  then  he  leaned  up  against  a  tree  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  came.  "I  say,  old  boy,  don't  you  mind  me,"  he 
gasped,  "but  do  you  remember  the  old  'Varsity  show  ?" 

"Yes,  you  villain;  and  I  remember  your  part  in  it. 
I  wonder  how  you  can,  even  at  this  remote  date,  laugh  at 
it."  For  I  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  how,  after  a  "chaste 
and  highly  artistic  performance  of  this  mediaeval  play" 
had  been  given  before  a  distinguished  Toronto  audience* 
the  trapdoor  by  which  I  had  entered  my  box  was  fastened, 
and  I  was  left  to  swelter  in  my  cage,  and  forced  to  listen 
to  the  suffocated  laughter  from  the  wings  and  the  stage 
whispers  of  "Hello,  Mr.  Punch,  where 's  the  baby?"  And 
for  many  a  day  after  I  was  subjected  to  anxious  inquiries 
a«  to  tiie  locality  and  health  of  "the  baby,"  and  whether  it 
was  able  to  be  out. 


The  Black  Rock  Cliristinas. 


37 


old 


3»» 


in  it. 
h  at 
aste 
tay" 
nce» 
ned, 
isten 
tage 
And 
iries 
er  it 


"Oh,  the  dear  oUl  days!"  he  kept  saying,  over  and  over, 
in  a  tone  so  full  of  sadness  that  my  heart  grew  sore  for 
him  and  I  forgave  him,  as  many  a  time  hefore. 

The  sports  passed  off  in  typical  Western  style.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  usual  running  and  leapitig  contests,  there 
was  rifle  and  pistol  shooting,  in  both  of  which  old  Nelson 
stood  first,  with  Shaw,  foreman  of  the  mines,  second. 

The  great  event  of  the  day,  however,  was  to  be  the  four- 
horse  race,  for  which  three  teams  were  entered— one  from 
the  mines  driven  by  Nixon,  Craig's  friend,  a  citizens' 
team,  and  Sandy's.  The  race  was  really  between  the 
miners'  team,  and  that  from  the  woods,  for  the  citizens' 
team,  though  made  up  of  speedy  horses,  had  not  been 
driven  much  together,  and  knew  neither  their  driver  nor 
ea^h  other.  In  the  miners'  team  were  four  bays,  very 
powerful,  a  trifle  heavy,  perhaps,  but  well  matched,  per- 
fectly trained,  and  perfectly  handled  by  their  driver. 
Sandy  had  his  long,  rangy  roans,  and  for  leaders  a  pair  of 
half-broken  pinto  bronchos.  The  pintos,  caught  the  sum- 
mer before  upon  tl:e  Alberta  prairies,  were  fleet  as  deer, 
but  wicked  and  uncertain.  They  were  Baptiste's  special 
care  and  prid^.  if  they  would  only  run  straight  there  was 
little  doubt  that  they  would  carry  the  roans  and  themselves 
to  glory ;  but  one  could  not  tell  the  moment  they  might 
bolt  or  kick  things  to  pieces. 

Being  the  onfy  non-partisan  in  the  crowd,  I  was  asked 
to  referee.  The  race  was  about  half  a  mile  and  return, 
the  first  and  last  quarters  being  upon  the  ice.  Tbc  course, 
after  leaving  the  ice,  led  up  from  the  river  by  a  long,  easy 


38 


Tbe  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


slope  t(»  the  level  above;  and  at  the  further  end  curved 
somewhat  shHr])iy  round  the  Old  Fort.  The  only  condi- 
tion attaching  to  the  race  was  that  the  teams  should  start  , 
from  the  scratch,  make  the  turn  of  the  Fort,  and  linish  at 
tlie  scratch.  'Jhere  were  no  vexing  regulations  as  to 
fouls.  The  man  making  the  foul  would  find  it  necessary 
to  reckon  with  the  crowd,  which  was  considered  sufficient 
guarantee  for  a  fair  and  square  race.  Owing  to  the 
iiazards  of  the  course,  the  result  would  depend  upon  the 
skill  of  drivers  quite  as  much  as  upon  the  speed  of  the 
teams.  The  points  of  hazard  were  at  the  turn  iutmd  the 
Old  Fort,  and  at  a  little  ravine  which  led  down  to  the 
river,  over  which  the  road  passed  by  means  of  a  long  log 
bridge  or  causeway. 

From  a  point  upon  the  high  bank  of  the  river  the  whole 
course  lay  in  open  view.  It  was  a  scene  full  of  life  and 
vividly  picturesque.  There  were  miners  in  dark  clothes 
and  peak  caps ;  citizens  in  ordinary  garb ;  ranchmen  in 
wide  cowboy  hats  and  buckskin  shirts  and  leggings,  some 
with  cartridge-belts  and  pistols ;  a  few  half-breeds  and  In- 
dians in  half-native,  half-civilized  dress;  and  scattering 
through  the  crowd  the  lumi)ennen  with  gay  scarlet  and 
blue  blanket  coats,  and  some  with  knitted  tuques  of  the 
same  colors.  A  very  good-natured,  btit  extremely  nn- 
certain  crowd  it  was.  At  the  head  of  each  horse  stood  a 
man,  but  at  the  pintos'  heads  Baptiste  stood  alone,  trying 
to  hold  down  the  oft'  leader,  thrown  into  a  frenzy  of  fear 
by  the  yelling  of  the  crowd. 

Gradually  all  became  quiet,  till,  in  the  midst  of  absolute 


> 


nng 


The  Bliick  Rock  Christinas. 


39 


stillness,  came  the  weirds,  "Arc  you  ready  ?"  tlu'U  lie  pistol 
shot  and  the  great  race  had  begun.  Above  the  roar  of  the 
jrowd  came  the  shrill  cry  of  Baptiste,  as  ho  struck  his 
broncho  wit!)  tiic  palm  of  his  hand,  and  swung  himself 
into  the  sleigii  beside  Sandy,  as  it  shot  ()ast. 

like  a  flash  the  bronchos  sprang  to  the  front,  two 
lengths  before  the  other  teams  ;  but,  terrified  b^^  the  yelling 
of  the  crowd,  instead  of  bending  to  the  left  bank  up  which 
the  road  wound,  they  wheeled  to  the  right  and  were  almost 
across  the  river  before  Sandy  could  swing  them  back  into 
the  course. 

Baptiste's  cries,  a  curious  mixture  of  French  and  Eng- 
glisb,  continued  to  strike  through  all  other  sounds  till  they 
gained  the  top  of  the  slope  to  find  the  others  almost  a 
hundred  yards  in  front,  the  citizens'  team  leading,  with  the 
miners'  following  close.  The  moment  the  pintos  caught 
sight  of  the  teams  before  them  they  set  off  at  a  terrific  pace 
and  steadily  devoured  the  intervening  space.  Nearer  and 
nearer  the  turn  came,  the  eight  horses  in  front  running 
straight  and  well  within  their  speed.  After  them  flew  the 
pintos,  running  savagely  with  ears  set  back,  leading  well 
the  big  roans,  thundering  along  and  gaining  at  every 
bound.  And  now  the  citizens'  team  had  almost  reached 
the  Fort,  running  hard,  and  drawing  away  from  the  bays, 
but  Nixon  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  was  simply 
steadying  his  team  for  the  turn.  The  event  proved  his 
wisdom,  for  in  the  turn  the  leading  team  left  the  track, 
lost  a  moment  or  two  in  the  deep  snow,  and  before  they 
could  regain  the  road  the  bays  had  swept  superbly  past, 


40 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


leaving  their  rivals  to  follow  in  the  rear.  On  came  the 
pintos,  swiftly  nearing  the  Fort.  Surely  at  that  pace  they 
cannot  make  the  turn.  But  Sandy  knows  his  leaders. 
They  have  their  eyes  upon  the  teams  in  front,  and  need  no 
touch  of  rein.  Without  the  slightest  change  of  speed  the 
nimble-footed  bronchos  round  the  turn,  hauling  the  big 
roans  after  them,  and  fall  in  behind  the  citizens'  team, 
wliich  is  regaining  steadily  the  ground  lost  in  the  turn. 

And  now  the  struggle  is  for  the  bridge  over  the  ravine. 
The  bays  in  front,  running  with  mouths  wide  open,  are 
evidently  doing  their  best;  behind  them,  and  every  mo- 
ment nearing  them,  but  at  the  limit  of  their  speed,  too, 
come  the  lighter  and  fleeter  citizens'  team ;  while  opposite 
their  driver  are  the  pintos,  pulling  hard,  eager  and  fresh. 
Their  temper  is  too  uncertain  to  send  them  to  the  front ; 
they  run  well  following,  but  when  leading  cannot  be 
trusted,  and  besides,  a  broncho  hates  a  bridge ;  so  Sandy 
holds  them  where  they  are,  waiting  and  hoping  for  his 
chance  after  the  bridge  is  crossed.  Foot  by  foot  the  citi- 
zens' team  creep  up  upon  the  flank  of  the  bays,  with  the 
pintos  in  turn  hugging  them  closely,  till  it  seems  as  if  the 
three,  if  none  slackens,  must  strike  the  bridge  together; 
and  this  will  mean  destruction  to  one  at  least.  This 
danger  Sandy  perceives,  but  he  dare  not  check  his  leaders. 
Suddenly,  within  a  few  yards  of  the  bridge,  Baptiste 
throws  himself  upon  the  lines  wrenches  them  out  of 
Sandy's  hands,  and,  with  a  quick  swing,  faces  the  pintos 
'lown  the  steep  side  of  the  ravine,  wliich  is  almost  sheer 
«^ft  with  a  thin  coat  of  snow.     It  is  a  daring  course  to  take. 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas, 


41 


;rs. 


' 


tor  the  ravine,  though  not  deep,  is  full  of  undergrowth, 
and  partially  closed  up  by  a  brush  heap  at  the  further  end. 
But,  with  a  yell,  Baptiste  hurls  his  four  horses  down  the 
slope,  and  into  the  undergrowth.  "Allons,  mes  enfants! 
Courage!  vite,  vite!"  cries  their  driver,  and  nobly  do  the 
pintos  respond.  Regardless  of  bushes  and  brush  heaps, 
they  tear  their  way  through ;  but,  as  they  emerge,  the  hind 
bob-sleigh  catches  a  root,  and,  with  a  crash,  the  sleigh  is 
hurled  high  in  the  air.  Baptiste's  cries  ring  out  high  and 
shrill  as  ever,  encouraging  his  team,  and  never  cease  till, 
with  a  plunge  and  a  scramble,  they  clear  the  brush  heap 
lying  at  the  mouth  of  the  ravine,  and  are  out  on  the  ice  on 
the  river,  with  Baptiste  standing  on  the  front  bob,  the  b«x 
trailing  behind,  and  Sandy  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Three  hundred  yards  of  the  course  remain.  The  bays, 
perfectly  handled,  have  gained  at  the  bridge  and  in  the 
descent  to  the  ice,  and  are  leading  the  citizens*  team  by 
half  a  dozen  sleigh  lengths.  Behind  both  comes  Baptiste. 
It  is  now  or  never  for  the  pintos.  The  rattle  of  the  trail- 
ing box,  together  with  the  wild  yelling  of  the  crowd  rush- 
ing down  the  bank,  excites  the  bronchos  to  madness,  and, 
taking  the  bits  in  their  teeth,  they  do  their  first  free  run- 
ning that  day.  Past  the  citizens'  team  like  a  whirlwind 
they  dash,  clear  the  intervening  space,  and  gain  the  flanks 
of  the  bays.  Can  the  bays  hold  them  ?  Over  them  leans 
their  driver,  plying  for  the  first  time  the  hissing  lash. 
Only  fifty  yards  more.  The  miners  begin  to  yell.  But 
Baptiste,  waving;-  his  lines  high  in  one  hand,  seires  his 
tuque  with  the  other,  whirls  it  about  his  head  and  flings  it 


^^ 


The  Black  Rock  Cliristmas, 


with  a  fiercer  yell  than  ever  at  the  bronchos.  Like  the 
biirsLing  of  a  hurricane  the  pintos  leap  forward,  and  with 
a  splendid  -ush  cross  the  scratch,  winners  by  their  own 
length. 

There  was  a  wild  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  shantymen 
had  torn  off  their  coats  and  were  waving  them  wildly  and 
tossing  them  high,  while  the  ranchers  added  to  the  uproar 
by  emptying  their  revolvers  into  the  air  in  a  way  that 
made  one  nervous. 

When  the  crowd  was  somewhat  quieted  Sandy's  stifT 
figure  appeared,  slowly  making  toward  them.  A  dozen 
lumbermen  ran  to  him,  eagerly  inquiring  if  he  were  hurt. 
But  Sandy  could  only  curse  the  little  Frenchman  for  los- 
ing the  race. 

"Lost !  Why,  mon,  we've  won  it !"  shouted  a  voice,  at 
which  Sandy's  rage  vanished,  and  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  in  upon  the  shoulders  of  his  admirers. 

"Where's  the  lad?"  was  his  first  question. 

"The  bronchos  are  off  with  him.  He's  down  at  the 
rapids,  like  enough." 

"Let  me  go,"  shouted  Sandy,  setting  off  at  a  run  in  the 
track  of  the  sleigh.  Tie  had  not  gone  far  before  he  met 
Baptiste  coming  back  with  his  team  foaming,  t^  e  roans 
going  quietly,  but  the  bronchos  dancing,  and  eager  to  be 
at  it  aga*  . 

"Viola!  bully  boy!  tank  the  bon  dieu,  Sandy;  you  not 
keel,  hell?  Ah,  you  are  one  grand  chevalier,"  exclaimed 
Baptiste,  hauling  Sandy  in  and  thrusting  the  lines  into  his 
hands.    And  so  they  came  back,  the  sleigh  box  still  drag- 


(• 

i 


k 


u 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


43 


the 


y 


lis 


cr- 


giiig-  beliiiul,  the  pintos  executing  fantastic  fij^^urcs  on 
their  hind  legs,  and  Sandy  holding  them  down.  Tke 
little  Frenchman  struck  a  dramatic  attitude  and  called 
out 

"Viola !     What's  the  matter  wiz  Sandy,  heh  ?" 

The  roar  that  answered  set  the  bronchos  off  again, 
plunging  and  kicking,  and  only  when  Baptiste  got  them 
1)>  the  heads  could  they  be  induced  to  stand  long  enough 
to  allow  Sandy  to  be  proclaimed  winner  of  the  race.  Sev- 
eral of  the  lumbermen  sprang  into  the  sleigh  box  with 
Sandy  and  Baptiste,  among  them  Keefe,  followed  by  Nel- 
son, and  the  first  part  of  the  great  day  vyas  over.  Slavin 
could  not  understand  the  new  order  of  things.  That  a 
great  event  lilse  a  four-horse  race  should  not  be  followed 
by  "drinks  all  round"  was  to  him  at  once  disgusting  and 
incomprehensible;  and,  realizing  his  defeat  for  the  mo- 
ment, he  fell  into  the  crowd  and  disappeared.  But  he  left 
behind  him  his  "nmners."  He  had  not  yet  thrown  up  the 
game. 

Mr.  Craig  meantime  came  to  me,  and,  looking  anxiously 
after  Sandy  in  his  sleigh,  with  his  frantic  crowd  of  ^^ellinc^ 
admirers,  said  in  a  gloomy  voice,  "Poor  Sandy !  Tie  i« 
easily  caught,  and  Tveefe  has  the  devil's  cunning." 

"He  won't  touch  Slavin's  whisky  to-day,"  T  answered, 
confidently. 

"There'll  be  twenty  bottles  waiting  him  in  the  stable," 
he  replied,  bitterly,  "and  I  can't  go  following  him  up." 
i     "He  won't  stand  that,  no  man  would.     CnDd  help  us  all." 


44 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas. 


I  could  hardly  recognize  myself,  for  I  found  in  my  heart 
an  earnest  echo  to  that  prayer  as  I  watched  him  go  toward 
the  crowd  again,  his  face  set  in  strong  determination.  He 
looked  like  the  captain  of  a  forlorn  hope,  and  I  was  proud 
to  be  following  him. 


■m 


'V 


[leart 

ward 

He 

roud 


I. 

y 


'V 


' 


CHAPTER  HI. 

WATERLOO.      OUR   FIGHT — HIS  VICTORY. 

The  sports  were  over,  and  there  remained  still  an  hout 
to  be  filled  in  before  dinner.  It  was  an  hour  full  of 
danger  to  Craig's  hopes  of  victory,  for  the  men  were  wild 
with  excitement,  and  ready  for  the  most  reckless  means 
of  "slinging  their  Just."  I  could  not  but  admire  the  skill 
with  which  Mr.  Craig  caught  their  attention. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  called  out,  "we've  forgotten  the  judge 
of  the  great  race.    Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Connor!" 

Two  of  the  shantymen  picked  me  up  and  hoisted  me  on 
their  shoulders,  while  the  cheers  were  given. 

"Announce  the  Punch  and  Judy,'*  he  entreated  me,  in  a 
low  voice.  I  did  so  in  a  little  speech,  and  was  forthwith 
borne  aloft,  through  the  street  to  the  booth,  followed  by 
the  whole  crowd,  cheering  like  mad. 

The  excitement  of  the  crowd  caught  me  and  for  an  hour 
I  squeaked  and  worked  the  wires  of  the  immortal  and  un- 
happy family  in  a  manner  hitherto  unapproached  by  me,  at 
least.  I  was  glad  enough  when  Graeme  came  to  tell  me 
to  send  the  men  in  to  dinner.  This  Mr.  Punch  did  in  the 
most  gracious  manner,  and  again  with  cheers  for  Punch's 
master,  they  troop«^d  tumultuously  into  the  tent. 

We  had  only  well  begun  when  Baptiste  came  in  quietly, 
but  hurriedly,  and  whispered  to  me 


46      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory, 


"M'sicii  Craig,  he's  gone  to  Slavin's,  and  would  lak  you 
and  M'sieu  Graeme  would  follow  queek.  Sandy  he's  take 
one  leel  drink  up  at  do  stable,  and  he's  go  mad  lak  one 
diable." 

I  sent  him  for  Graeme,  who  was  presiding  at  diiuier, 
and  set  off  for  Slavin's  at  a  tun.  There  I  found  Mr, 
Craig  and  Nelson  holding  Sandy,  more  than  half  drunk, 
back  from  Slavin,  who,  stripped  to  the  shirt,  was  coolly 
waiting  v/ith  a  taunting  smile. 

"Let  me  go,  Mr.  Craig,"  Sandy  was  saying,  "I  am  a 
good  Presbyterian.  He  is  a  Papist  thief ;  and  he  has  my 
money  ;  and  I  will  have  it  out  of  the  soul  of  him." 

"Let  him  go,  preacher,"  sneered  Slavin,  "I'll  cool  hht* 
off  for  yez.  But  ye'd  better  hold  him  if  yez  wants  his 
mug  left  on  to  him." 

"Let  him  go !"  Keefe  was  shouting. 

"Hands  off  1"  Blaney  was  echoing. 

I  pushed  my  way  in.    "What's  up?"  I  cried. 

"Mr.  Connor,"  said  Sandy,  solemnly,  "it  is  a  gentlc^nrin 
you  are,  though  your  name  is  against  you,  and  I'm  a  good 
Presbyterian,  and  I  can  give  you  the  Commandments  and 
Reasons  annexed  to  them ;  but  yon's  a  thief,  a  Papist  thief, 
and  I  am  justified  in  getting  my  moiiey  out  of  his  soul." 

"But,"  I  remonstrated,  "you  won't  get  it  in  this  way." 

"He  has  my  money,"  reiterated  Sandy. 

*'He  is  a  blank  liar,  and  he's  afraid  to  take  it  up,"  said 
Slavin  J  in  a  low,  cool  tone. 

With  a  roar  Sandy  broke  away  and  rushed  at  him ;  but* 


it 
iil 


Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory.     4;* 


lief, 


I** 


v 


laid 


ut, 


CI 

1 


vvitliout  moving  iroiii  his  tracks,  biaviii  met  liin;  with  a 
straight  left-hander  and  laid  him  flat, 

"Hooray,"  yelled  Blaney,  "Ireland  forever!"  and  seiz- 
ing the  iron  poker,  swung  it  around  his  head,  crying, 
"Back,  or,  by  the  holy  Moses,  I'll  kill  the  first  man  that 
interferes  wid  the  game." 

"Give  it  to  himl"  Keefe  said  savagely. 

Sandy  rose  slowly,  gazing  round  stupidly. 

"He  don't  know  what  hit  him,'*  laughed  Keefe. 

This  roused  the  Highlander,  and  saying,  "I'll  settle  you 
afterward,  Mister  Keefe,"  he  rushed  in  again  at  Slavin. 
Again  Slavin  met  him  with  his  left,  staggered  him,  and, 
before  he  fell,  took  a  step  forward  and  delivered  a  terrific 
right-hand  blow  on  his  jaw.  Poor  Sandy  went  down  in  a 
heap  amid  the  yells  of  Blaney,  Keefe,  and  some  others  of 
the  gang.  I  was  in  despair  v^^hen  in  came  Baptiste  and 
Graeme. 

One  look  at  Sandy,  and  Baptiste  tore  of¥  his  coat  and 
cap,  slammed  them  on  the  floor,  danced  on  them,  and  with 
a  long-drawn  "sap-r-r-/-rie,"  rushed  at  Slavin.  But 
Graeme  caught  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  saying,  "Hold 
on,  little  man,"  and  turning  to  Slavin,  pointed  to  Sandy, 
who  was  reviving  under  Nelson's  care,  and  said,  "What's 
this  for?" 

"Ask  him,"  said  Slavin,  insolently.    "He  knows." 

"Whrt  is  it.  Nelson?" 

Nelson  explained  that  Sandy,  after  drinking  some  at  the 
stable  and  a  glass  at  the  Black  Rock  Hotel,  had  come 


40      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory. 


down  here  with  Keefe  and  the  others,  had  lost  his  moneys 
and  was  accusing  Slavin  of  robbing  him. 

"Did  you  furnish  him  with  liquor?"  said  Graeme 
sternly. 

"It  is  none  of  your  business/'  replied  Slavin,  with  an 
oath. 

"I  shall  make  it  my  business.  It  is  not  the  first  time 
my  men  have  lost  money  in  this  saloon." 

"You  lie,"  said  Slavin,  with  deliberate  emphasis. 

"Slavin,"  said  Graeme,  quietly,  "it's  a  pity  you  said  that, 
because,  unless  you  apologize  in  one  minute,  I  shail  make 
you  sorry." 

"Apologize?"  roared  Slavin;  "apologize  to  you?"  call- 
ng  him  a  vile  name. 

Graeme  grew  white,  and  said,  even  more  slowly,  "Now 
'^  3u'll  have  to  take  it ;  no  apology  will  do." 

He  slowly  stripped  off  his  coat  and  vest.  Mr.  Craig 
interposed,  begging  Graeme  to  let  the  matter  pass. 
''.Purely  he  is  not  worth  it." 

"Mr.  Craig,"  said  Graeme,  with  an  easy  smile,  "you 
don't  understand.  No  man  can  call  me  that  name  and 
walk  around  afterward  feeling  well." 

Then,  turning  to  Slavin,  he  said,  "Now,  if  you  want  a 
minute's  rest,  I  can  wait." 

Slavin,  with  a  curse,  bade  him  come. 

"Blaney,"  said  Graeme,  sharply,  "you  get  back." 
filaney  promptly  stepped  back  to  Keefe's  side.  "Nel- 
son, you  and  Baptiste  can  see  that  they  stay  there."    The 


n 


** 


Waterloo.    Our  Plight — His  Victory.      49 

old  mati  nodded  and  looked  at  Craig,  who  simply  said, 
"Do  the  best  you  can." 

It  was  a  good  fight.  Slavin  had  plenty  of  pluck,  and 
for  a  time  forced  the  fighting,  Graeme  guarding  easily 
and  tapping  him  aggravatingly  about  the  nose  and  eyes, 
drawing  blood,  but  not  disabling  him.  Gradually  there 
came  a  look  of  fear  into  Slavin's  eyes  and  the  beads 
stood  upon  his  face.     He  had  met  his  master. 

"Now,  Slavin,  you're  beginning  to  be  sorry ;  and  now 
I  am  going  to  show  you  what  you  are  made  of."  Graeme 
made  one  or  two  lightning  passes,  struck  Slavin  one,  two, 
three  terrific  blows,  and  laid  him  quite  flat  and  sense- 
less. Keefe  and  Blaney  both  sprang  forward,  but  there 
was  a  savage  kind  of  growl. 

"Hold,  there !"  It  was  old  man  Nelson  looking  along 
a  pistol  barrel.  "You  know  me,  KeCic,'*  he  said.  "You 
won't  do  any  murder  this  time." 

Keefe  turned  green  and  yellow,  and  staggered  back, 
while  Slavin  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Will  you  take  some  more?"  said  Graeme.  "You 
haven't  got  much;  but  mind  I  have  stopped  playing  with 
you.    Put  up  your  gun,  Nelson.    No  one  will  interfere 


n 


now. 

Slavin  hesitated,  then  rushed,  but  Graeme  stepped  to 
meet  him,  and  we  saw  Slavin's  heels  in  the  air  as  he  fell 
back  upon  his  neck  and  shoulders  and  lay  still,  with  his 
toes  quivering. 

"Bon!"  yelled  Baptiste.    "Bully  boy!    Dat's  de  Um 


50      Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory. 


itufif!     Dat's   lain   liiiii  one  good   lesson."     But  imme- 
'.liately  he  shrieked,  "Gar-r-i-r-e  a  vous!" 

He  was  too  late,  for  there  was  a  crash  of  breaking:;-  glass, 
md  Graeme  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  long,  deep  cut  on  the 
tide  of  his  head.  Kcefe  had  hurled  a  bottle  with  all  too 
sure  an  aim,  and  had  fled.  I  thought  he  was  dead ;  but 
we  carried  him  out,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  groaned, 
opened  his  eyes,  and  sank  again  into  insensibility. 

"Where  can  we  take  him?"  I  cried. 

"To  my  shack,"  said  ]\Ir.  Craig. 

"Is  there  no  place  nearer?" 

"Yes;  Mrs.  Mavor'*^,     I  shall  run  on  to  tell  her." 

She  met  us  at  the  vkv.  r.  I  had  in  mind  to  say  some 
words  of  apology,  but  when  I  looked  upon  her  face  I  for- 
got my  words,  forget  iv^  business  at  her  door,  and  stood 
simply  looking. 

"Come  in !  Bring  him  in !  Please  do  not  wait,"  she 
said,  and  her  voice  was  sweet  and  soft  and  firm. 

We  laid  him  in  a  large  room  at  the  back  of  the 
shop  over  which  Mrs.  Mavor  lived.  Together  we  dressed 
the  wound,  her  firm  white  fingers  skillful  as  if  with  long 
training.  Before  the  dressing  was  finished  I  sent  Craig 
ofif,  for  the  time  had  come  for  the  Magic  Lantern  in  the 
church,  and  I  knew  how  critical  the  moment  was  in  our 
fight.  "Go,"  I  said ;  "he  is  coming  to,  and  we  do  not  need 
you." 

In  a  few  moments  more  Graeme  revived,  and,  gazing 
about,  asked,  "What's  all  this  about?"  ard  then,  recollect- 
ing, "Ah !  that  brute  Keefe ;"  then  seeing  my  anxious  fac  * 


Waterloo.    Our  Fight— His  Victory.      51 


she 


he  said  carelessly,  "Awful  bore,  ain't  it?  Sorry  to  trouble 
you,  old  fellow." 

"You  be  hanged!"  I  said  shortly;  for  his  old,  sweet 
smile  was  playing  about  his  lips,  and  was  almost  too  much 
for  me.  "Mrs.  Mavor  and  I  are  in  command,  and  you 
must  keep  perfectly  still." 

"Mrs.  Mavor?"  he  said,  in  surprise.  She  came  for- 
ward, with  a  slight  flush  on  her  face. 

"I  think  you  know  me,  Mr.  Graeme." 

"I  have  often  seen  you,  and  wished  to  know  you.  I  am 
sorry  to  bring  you  this  trouble." 

"You  must  not  say  so,"  she  replied,  "but  let  me  do  all 
for  you  that  I  can.  And  now  the  doctor  says  you  are  to 
lie  still." 

"The  doctor?  Oh!  you  mean  Connor.  He  is  hardly 
there  yet.  You  don't  know  each  other.  Permit  me  to 
present  Mr.  Connor,  Mrs.  Mavor." 

As  she  bowed  slightly,  her  eyes  looked  into  mine  with 
serious  gaze,  not  inquiring,  yet  searching  my  soul.  As  I 
looked  into  her  eyes  I  forgot  everything  about  me,  and 
when  I  recalled  myself  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  been  away  in 
some  far  place.  It  was  not  their  color  or  their  bright- 
ness; I  do  not  yet  know  their  color,  and  I  have  often 
looked  into  them ;  and  thry  were  not  bright ;  but  they  were 
clear,  and  one  could  look  far  down  into  them,  and  in  their 
depths  see  a  glowing,  steady  light.  As  I  went  to  get  some 
drugs  from  the  Black  Rock  doctor,  I  found  myself  won- 
dering about  that  far-down  light;  and  about  her  voice, 
how  it  could  get  that  sound  from  far  away. 


a 


1^ 


J! 


5«      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory. 

I  found  the  doctor  quite  drunk,  as,  indeed,  Mr.  Craig 
had  warned ;  but  his  drugs  were  g'ood,  and  I  got  what  I 
wanted  and  quickly  returned. 

While  Graeme  slept  Mrs.  Mavor  made  me  tea.  As  tne 
evening  wore  on  I  told  her  the  events  of  the  day,  dwelling 
-idmiringly  upon  Craig's  generalship.     She  smiled  at  this, 

"He  got  me,  too,"  she  said.  "Nixon  was  sent  to  mc 
J  list  before  the  sports;  and  I  don't  think  he  will  break 
down  to-day,  and  I  am  so  thankful."  And  her  eyes 
glowed. 

"I  am  quite  sure  he  won't,"  I  thought  to  myself,  but 
I  said  no  word. 

After  a  long  pause,  she  went  on,  "I  have  promised  Mr. 
Craig  to  sing  to-night,  if  I  am  needed  I"  and  then,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "it  is  two  years  since  I  have  b  '  able 
to  sing — (wo  years,"  she  repeated,  "since" — and  w.^i  her 
brave  voice  trembled — "my  husband  was  killed," 

"I  quite  understand,"  I  said,  having  no  other  word  on 
my  tongue. 

"And,"  she  went  on  quietly,  "I  fear  I  have  been  selfish. 
It  is  hard  to  sing  the  same  songs.  We  were  very  happy. 
But  the  miners  like  to  hear  me  sing,  and  I  think  perhaps  it 
keeps  them  from  evil.  I  shall  try  to-night,  if  I  am  needed. 
Mr.  Craig  will  not  ask  me  unless  he  must." 

I  would  have  seen  every  miner  and  lumberman  »n  the 
place  hideously  drunk  before  I  would  have  asked  her  to 
sing  one  song  while  her  heart  ached.  I  wondered  at 
Craig,  and  said,  ratliei  angrily: 


t 


! 

i' 


Waterloo,    Our  Fight— His  Victory,     53 

"He  thinks  only  of  those  wretched  miners  and  shanty- 
men  of  his." 

She  looked  at  me  with  wonder  in  her  eyes,  and  saic* 
gently,  "And  are  they  not  Christ's,  too?" 

And  I  found  no  word  to  reply. 

It  was  nearing  ten  o'clock,  and  I  was  wondering  how 
the  fight  was  going,  and  hoping  that  Mrs.  Mavor  would 
not  be  needed,  when  the  door  opened,  and  old  man  Nelson 
and  Sandy,  the  latter  much  battered  and  ashamed,  came 
in  with  the  word  for  Mrs.  Mavor. 

"I  will  come,"  she  said  simply.  She  saw  me  preparing 
to  accompany  her,  and  asked,  "Do  you  think  you  can  leave 
him  ?" 

"He  will  do  quite  well   n  Nelson's  care." 

"Then  I  am  glad ;  for  I  must  take  my  little  one  with  me. 
I  did  not  put  her  to  bed  in  case  I  should  need  to  go,  and  I 
may  not  leave  her." 

We  entered  the  church  by  the  back  door,  and  saw  at 
once  that  even  yet  the  battle  might  easily  be  lost. 

Some  miners  had  just  come  from  Slavin's,  evidently 
bent  on  breaking  up  the  meeting,  in  revenge  for  the  col- 
lapse of  the  dance,  which  Slavin  was  unable  to  enjoy, 
much  less  direct.  Craig  was  gallantly  holding  his  ground, 
finding  it  hard  work  to  keep  his  men  in  good  humor,  and 
so  prevent  a  fight,  for  there  were  cries  of  "Put  him  out ! 
Put  the  beast  out  I"  at  a  miner  half  drunk  and  wholly  out- 
rageous. 

The  look  of  relief  that  came  over  his  face  when  Craig 
caught  sight  of  us  told  how  anxious  he  had  been,  and 


rt 


54      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory. 

reconciled  me  to  Mrs.  Mayor's  singing.  "Thank  the  good 
God,"  he  said,  with  what  came  near  being  a  sob,  "I  was 
alDOUt  to  despair." 

He  immediately  walked  to  the  front  and  called  out : 

"Gentl^'.iien,  if  you  wish  it,  Mrs.  Mavor  will  sing." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Some  one  began  to  applaud, 
but  a  miner  said,  savagely :  "Stop  that,  you  fool !" 

There  was  a  few  moments'  delay,  when  from  the  crowd 
a  voice  called  out:  "Does  Mrs.  Mavor  wish  to  sing?"  fol- 
lowed by  cries  of,  "Ay,  that's  it."  Then  Shaw,  the  fore- 
man at  the  mines,  stood  up  in  the  audience  and  said : 

"Mr.  Craig  and  gentlemen,  you  know  that  three  years 
ago  I  was  known  as  *01d  Ricketts/  and  that  I  owe  all  I 
am  to-night,  under  God,  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  and" — with  a  lit- 
tle quiver  in  his  voice — "her  baby.  And  we  all  know  that 
for  two  years  she  has  not  sung;  and  we  all  know  why. 
And  what  I  say  is,  that  if  she  does  not  feel  like  singing  to- 
night, she  is  not  going  to  sing  to  keep  any  drunken  brute 
of  Slavin's  crowd  quiet." 

There  were  deep  growls  of  approval  all  over  the  church. 
I  could  have  hugged  Shaw  then  and  there  Mr.  Craig 
went  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  and  after  a  word  with  her  came 
back  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  me  to  thank  her  dear  friend,  Mr. 
Shaw,  but  says  she  would  like  to  sing." 

The  response  was  perfect  stillness.  Mr.  Craig  sat  down 
to  the  organ  and  played  the  opening  bars  of  the  touching 
melody,  'Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night."  Mrs.  Mavor  came  to 
the  front,  and,  with  a  smile  of  exquisite  sweetness  upon 


^! 


h 


Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory.      55 

her  sad  face,  and  looking  straight  at  us  with  her  glorious 
eyes,  began  to  sing. 

Her  voice,  a  rich  soprano,  even  and  true,  rose  and  fell, 
now  soft,  now  strong,  but  always  filling  the  building, 
pouring  around  us  floods  of  music.  I  had  heard  Patti's 
"Home,  Sweet  Home,"  and  of  all  singing  that  alone  af- 
fected me  as  did  this. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  verse  the  few  women  in  the 
church  and  some  men  were  weeping  quietly,  but  wlien  she 
began  the  words : 

"When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  once  linked  together," 

sobs  came  on  every  side  from  these  tender-hearted  fel- 
lows, and  Shaw  quite  lost  his  grip.  Bui  she  sang  steadily 
on,  the  tone  clearer  and  sweeter  and  fuller  at  every  note, 
and  when  the  sound  of  her  voice  died  away,  she  stood 
looking  at  the  men  as  if  in  wonder  that  they  should  weep. 
No  one  moved.  Mr.  Craig  played  softly  on,  and,  wander- 
ing through  many  variations,  arrived  at  last  at 
"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul." 
As  she  sang  the  appealing  words  her  face  was  lifted  up 
and  she  saw  none  of  us,  but  she  must  have  seen  some  one, 
for  the  cry  in  her  voice  could  only  come  from  one  who 
could  see  and  feel  help  close  at  hand.  On  and  on  went 
the  glorious  voice,  searching  my  soul's  depths,  but  when 
she  came  to  the  words  : 

"Thou.  O  Christ,  art  all  T  want." 
she  stretched  up  her  arms — she  had  quite  forgotten  us, 
her  voice  had  borne  her  to  other  worlds — and  sang  with 


56      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory, 


•  I 


such  a  passion  of  abandon  that  my  soul  was  ready  to  sui 
render  anything,  everything. 

Again  Mr.  Craig  wandered  on  through  his  changing 
chords  till  again  he  came  to  familiar  ground,  and  the  voice 
began,  in  low,  thrilling  tones,  Bernard's  great  song  of 
home : 

"Jerusalem  the  golden." 

Every  word,  with  all  its  weight  of  meaning,  came  wing- 
ing to  our  souls,  till  we  found  ourselves  gazing  afar  into 
those  stately  halls  of  Zion,  with  their  daylight  serene  and 
their  jubilant  throngs.  When  the  singer  came  to  the  last 
verse  there  was  a  pause.  Again  Mr.  Craig  softly  played 
the  interlude,  but  still  there  was  no  voice.  I  looked  up. 
She  was  very  white,  and  her  eyes  were  glowing  with  their 
deep  light.  Mr.  Craig  looked  quickly  about,  saw  her, 
stopped,  and  half  rose,  as  if  to  go  to  her,  when,  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  come  from  a  far-off  land,  she  went  on : 

"O  sweet  and  blessed  country!" 

The  longing,  the  yearning,  in  the  second  "O"  were  in- 
describable. Again  and  again,  as  she  held  that  word,  and 
then  dropped  down  with  the  cadence  in  the  music,  my 
heart  ached  for  I  knew  not  what. 

The  audience  were  sitting  as  in  a  trance.  The  grimy 
faces  of  the  miners,  for  they  never  get  quite  white,  were 
furrowed  with  the  tear-courses.  Shaw,  by  this  time,  lad 
his  face,  too,  lifted  high,  his  eyes  gazing  far  above  the 
singer's  head,  end  I  knew  by  the  rapture  on  his  face  that 
he  was  seeing,  as  she  saw,  the  thronginsr  stately  halls  and 


P 


s 


I 


," 


Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory,      57 

the  white-robed  conquerors.  He  had  felt,  and  was  still 
feeling,  all  the  stress  of  the  fight,  and  to  him  the  vision  of 
the  conquerors  in  their  glory  was  soul-drawing  and  soul- 
stirring.  And  Nixon,  too — he  had  his  vision;  but  what 
he  saw  was  the  face  of  the  singer,  with  the  shining  eyes, 
and,  by  the  look  of  him,  that  was  vision  enough. 

Immediately  after  her  last  note  Mrs.  Mavor  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  her  little  girl,  who  was  sitting  on  my 
knee,  caught  her  up,  and,  holding  her  close  to  her  breast, 
walked  quickly  behind  the  curtain.  Not  a  sound  fol- 
lowed the  singing;  no  one  moved  till  she  had  disap- 
peared ;  and  then  Mr.  Craig  came  to  the  front,  and,  mo- 
tioning to  me  to  follow  Mrs.  Mavor,  began  in  a  low  dis- 
tinct voice : 

"Gentlemen^  it  was  not  easy  for  Mrs.  Mavor  to  sing  for 
us,  and  you  know  she  sang  because  she  is  a  miner's  wife, 
and  her  heart  is  with  the  miners.  But  she  sang,  too,  be- 
cause her  heart  is  His  who  came  to  earth  this  day  so 
many  years  ago  to  save  us  all;  and  she  would  make 
you  love  Him  too.  For  in  loving  Him  you  are  saved 
.Vom  ail  base  loves,  and  you  know  what  I  mean. 

"And  before  we  say  good-night,  men,  I  want  to  know 
if  the  time  is  not  come  when  all  of  you  who  mean  to  be 
better  than  you  are  should  join  in  putting  from  us  this 
thing  that  has  brought  sorrow  and  shame  to  us  and  to 
those  we  love?  You  know  what  I  mean.  Some  of  you 
are  strong,  will  you  stand  by  and  see  weaker  men  robbed 
of  the  money  they  save  for  tliose  far  away,  and  robbed  of 
the  manhood  that  nt  money  can  \>a\  or  restore? 


U|| 


I' •' 


58      Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory. 

"Will  the  strong  men  help?  Shall  we  all  join  hands 
in  this?  What  do  you  say?  In  this  towi.  we  have  often 
seen  hell,  and  just  a  moment  ago  we  were  all  looking 
into  heaven,  'the  sweet  and  blessed  country.'  Oh,  men  !'* 
and  his  voice  rang  in  an  agony  through  the  building — 
"Oh,  men  I  which  shall  be  ours?  For  Heaven's  dear  sake, 
let  us  help  one  another !  Who  will  ?" 

I  was  looking  out  through  a  slit  in  the  curtain.  The 
men,  already  wrought  to  intense  feeling  by  the  music, 
were  listening  with  set  faces  and  gleaming  eyes,  and  as 
at  the  appeal  "Who  will?"  Craig  raised  high  his  hand, 
Shaw,  Nixon,  and  a  hundred  men  sprang  to  their  feet 
and  held  high  their  hands. 

I  have  witnessed  some  thrilling  scenes  in  my  life,  but 
never  anything  to  equal  that;  the  one  man  on  the  plat- 
form standing  at  full  height  with  his  hand  thrown  up  to 
heaven,  and  the  hundred  men  below  standing  straight, 
with  arms  up  at  full  length,  silent,  and  almost  motionless. 

For  a  moment  Craig  held  them  so ;  and  again  his  voice 
rang  out,  louder,  sterner  than  before : 

"All  who  mean  it,  say  'By  God's  help  I  will.' " 

And  back  from  a  hundred  throats  came  deep  and 
strong  the  words  "By  God's  help  I  will." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Mavor,  whom  I  had  quite  for- 
^^otten,  put  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "Go  and  tell  him,"  she 
panted,  "I  want  them  to  come  on  Thursday  night,  as  they 
used  to  in  the  other  days — go — quick,"  and  she  almost 
pushed  ire  ^ut.  I  g-ave  Craig  her  message.  He  held  up 
his  hand  for  silejacc. 


; 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victoryo      59 


up 


"Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  me  to  say  that  she  will  be  glad  to 
see  you  all,  as  in  the  old  days,  on  Thursday  evening ;  and 
I  can  think  of  no  better  place  to  give  formal  expression 
to  our  pledge  of  this  night." 

There  was  a  shout  of  acceptance ;  and  then,  at  some 
one's  call,  the  long  pent-up  feelings  of  the  crowd  found 
vent  in  three  mighty  cheers  for  Mrs.  !Mavor. 

•*Novv'  for  our  old  hymn,"  called  out  Mr.  Craig,  "and 
Mrs.  Mavor  will  lead  us." 

He  sat  down  at  the  organ,  played  a  few  bars  of  "The 

Sweet  By  and  By,"  and  then  Mrs.  Mavor  began.     But 

not  a  soul  joined  until  the  refrain  was  reached,  and  then 

they  sang  as  only  men  with  their  hearts  on  fire  can  sing. 

But  after  the  last  refrain  Mr.  Craig  made  a  sign  to  Mrs. 

Mavor,  and  she  sang  alone,  slowly  and  softly,  and  with 

eyes  looking  far  away : 

"In  the  sweet  by  anil  by. 
We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore." 

There  was  no  benediction — there  seemed  no  need; 
and  the  men  went  quickly  out.  But  over  and  over  again 
the  voice  kept  singing  in  my  ears  and  in  my  heart,  "We 
shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore."  And  after  the  sleigh- 
loads  of  men  had  gone  and  left  the  street  empty,  as  I 
stood  with  Craig  in  the  radiant  moonlight  that  made  the 
great  mountains  about  come  near  us,  from  Sandy's  sleigh 
we  heard  in  the  distance  Baptiste's  French-English  song ; 
but  the  song  that  floated  down  with  the  sound  of  the  bells 
from  the  miner's  sleigh  was : 

"We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore," 

"Poor  old  Shaw !"  said  Craig  softly. 


r 


ii-y 


<«1 


60     Waterloo.    Our  Fight — His  Victory, 

When  the  last  sound  had  died  away  I  turned  to  him 
and  said : 

*¥•«  have  won  your  fight. 

'We  have  won  our  fight;  I  was  beaten,"  he  replied 
quickly,  offering  me  his  hand.  Then,  taking  off  his  cap, 
and  looking  up  beyond  the  mountain  tops  and  the  silent 
stars,  he  added  softly,  "Our  fight,  but  His  victory." 

And,  thinking  it  all  over,  I  could  not  say  but  perhaps 
he  was  right. 


'i 


iJ 


;^i; 


ti 


M 

if  I } 


iim 


ied 
:ap, 
ent 

aps 


I 


. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MRS.   mayor's  story. 

Th*  days  that  followed  the  Black  Rock  Christmas  were 
anxious  days  and  weary,  but  not  for  the  brightest  of  my 
life  would  I  change  them  now ;  for,  as  after  the  burning 
heat  or  rocking  storm  the  dying  day  lies  beautiful  in  the 
tender  glow  of  the  evening,  so  these  days  have  lost  their 
wearhicss  and  lie  bathed  in  a  misty  glory.  The  years  that 
bring  us  many  ills,  and  that  pass  so  stormfully  over  us, 
bear  away  with  them  the  ugliness,  the  weariness,  the  pain 
that  are  theirs,  but  the  beauty,  the  sweetness,  the  rest 
they  leave  untouched,  for  these  are  eternal.  As  the  moun- 
tains, that  near  at  hand  stand  jagged  and  scarred,  in  the 
far  distance  repose  in  their  soft  robes  of  purple  haze,  so 
the  rough  present  fades  into  the  past,  soft  and  sweet  and 
beautiful. 

I  have  set  myself  to  recall  the  pain  and  anxiety  of  those 
days  and  nights  when  we  waited  in  fear  for  the  turn  of 
the  fever,  but  I  can  only  think  of  the  patience  and  gentle- 
ness and  courage  of  her  who  stood  beside  me,  bearing 
more  than  half  my  burden.  And  while  I  can  see  the  face 
of  Leslie  Graeme,  ghastly  or  flushed,  and  hear  his  low 
moaning  or  the  broken  words  of  his  delirium,  I  fhink 
chiefly  of  the  bright  face  bending  over  him,  and  of  the 
cool,  firm,  swift-moving  hands  that  soothed  and  smoothed 


I 


Li  '* 


U' 


t  '' 


62 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story, 


and  rested,  and  the  voice,  like  the  soft  song  of  a  bird  in 
the  twihght,  thctt  never  failed  to  bring  peace. 

Mrs.  Mavor  and  I  were  much  together  during  those 
days.  I  made  my  home  in  Mr.  Craig's  shack,  but  most 
of  my  time  was  spent  beside  my  friend.  We  did  not  see 
much  of  Craig,  for  he  was  heart-deep  with  the  miners, 
laying  plans  for  the  making  of  the  League  the  following  i 
Thursday,  and  though  he  shared  our  anxfety  and  was 
ever  ready  to  relieve  us,  his  thought  and  his  talk  had 
mostly  to  do  with  the  League. 

Mrs.  Mavor's  evenings  were  given  to  the  miners,  but 
her  afternoons  mostly  to  Graeme  and  to  me,  and  then  it 
was  I  saw  another  side  of  her  character.  We  would  sit 
in  her  little  dining-room,  where  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
the  quaint  old  silver,  and  bits  of  curiously  cut  glass,  all 
spoke  of  other  and  different  days,  and  thence  we  would 
roam  the  world  of  literature  and  art.  Keenly  sensitive  to 
all  the  good  and  beautiful  in  these,  she  had  her  favorites 
among  the  masters,  for  whom  she  was  ready  to  do  battle, 
and  when  lier  argument,  instinct  with  fancy  and  vivid 
imagination,  failed,  she  swept  away  all  opposing  opinion 
with  the  swift  rush  of  her  enthusiasm;  so  that,  though  I 
felt  she  was  beaten,  I  was  left  without  words  to  reply. 
Shakespeare  and  Tennyson  and  Burns  she  loved,  but  not 
Shelley,  nor  Byron,  nor  even  Wordsworth.  Browning 
she  knew  not,  and  therefore  could  not  rank  him  with  her 
noblest  three,  but  when  I  read  to  her  "A  Death  in  the 
Desert,"  and  came  to  the  noble  words  at  the  end  of  the 
tal*-' 


Mrs,  Mayor's  Story. 

"For  all  was  as  I  say,  and  now  the  man 
Lies  as  he  once  lay,  breast  to  breast  with  God,'* 


63 


the  light  shone  in  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  "Oh,  that  is  good 
and  great;  I  shall  pfet  much  out  of  him;  I  had  always 
feared  he  was  impossible."  And  "Paracelsus,"  too,  stirred 
her,  but  when  I  recited  the  thrilling  fragment,  "Prospicc," 
on  to  the  closing  rapturous  cry — 

"Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast, 
O  thy  soul  of  my  soul!     I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 
And  with  God  be  the  rest!" 

the  red  color  faded  from  her  cheek,  her  breath  came  in  a 
sob,  and  she  rose  quickly  and  passed  out  without  a  word. 
Ever  after  Browning  was  among  her  gods.  But  when 
we  talked  of  music,  she,  adoring  Wagner,  soared  upon 
the  wings  of  the  mighty  Tannhauser,  far  above,  into  re- 
gions unknown,  leaving  me  to  walk  soberly  with  Beetho- 
ven and  Mendelssohn.  Yet  with  all  our  free,  frank  talk, 
there  was  all  the  while  that  in  her  gentle  courtesy  which 
kept  me  from  venturing  into  any  chamber  of  her  life 
whose  door  she  did  not  set  freely  open  to  me.  So  I  vexed 
myself  about  her,  and  when  Mr,  Craig  returned  the  next 
week  from  the  Landings  where  he  had  been  for  some 
days,  my  first  question  was : 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor?  And  how  in  the  name  of  all 
that  is  wonderful  end  unlikely  does  she  come  to  be  here? 
And  why  dies  she  stay?" 

He  would  not  answer  then ;  whether  it  was  the*"  his 
mind  was  full  of  the  coming  struggle,  or  whether  he 
shrank  from  the  tale,  I  know  not ;  but  at  ntght,  when  we 


i^ 


I 


w 


i 


64 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story. 


sat  together  beside  his  fire,  he  told  me  the  story,  while  1 
smoked.  He  was  worn  with  his  long,  hard  drive,  and 
with  the  burden  of  his  work,  but  as  he  went  on  with  his 
tale,  looking  into  the  fire  as  he  told  it,  he  forgot  all  his 
present  weariness  and  lived  again  the  scenes  he  painted 
for  me.     This  was  his  story : 

"I  remember  well  my  fit-^t  sight  of  her,  as  she  sprang 
from  the  front  seat  of  the  stage  to  the  ground,  hardly 
touching  her  husband's  hand.  She  looked  a  mere  girl. 
Let's  see — five  years  ago — she  couldn't  have  been  a  day 
over  twenty-three.  She  looked  barely  twenty.  Her  swift 
glance  swept  over  the  group  of  miners  at  the  hotel  door, 
and  then  rested  on  the  mountains  standing  in  all  their 
autumn  glory. 

"I  was  proud  of  our  mountains  that  evening.  Turning 
to  her  husband,  she  exclaimed :  'Oh,  Lewis,  are  they  not 
grand  ?  and  lovely,  too  ?'  Every  miner  lost  his  heart  then 
and  there,  but  all  waited  for  Abe,  the  driver,  to  give  his 
verdict  before  venturing  an  opinion.  Abe  said  nothing 
until  he  had  taken  a  preliminary  drink,  and  then,  calling 
all  hands  to  fill  up,  he  lifted  his  glass  high,  and  said,  sol- 
emnly : 

"  'Boys,  here's  to  her.' 

"Like  a  flash  every  glass  was  emptied,  and  Abe  called 
out :    'Fill  her  up  again,  boys !    My  treat  !* 

"He  was  evidently  quite  worked  up.  Then  he  began 
with  solemn  emphasis : 

"'Boys,  you  hear  me!  She's  A  No.  i,  triple  X,  the 
pure  quill  with  a  bead  on  it ;  she's  a '  and  for  the  first 


Mrs.  Mavor's  Story. 


65 


I 


[imc  in  his  Black  Rock  history  Abe  was  stuck  for  a  word. 
Some  one  suggested  'angel.' 

"  'Angel !'  repeated  Abe,  with  infinite  contempt.  'Angel 
!)e  blowcd'  (I  paraphrase  here) ;  'angels  ain't  in  the  same 
month  with  her;  I'd  like  to  see  any  blanked  angel  swing 
my  team  around  them  curves  without  a  shiver.' 

"  'ilcld  the  lines  herself^  Abe?'  asked  a  miner. 

*  That's  what/  saici  Abe ;  and  then  he  went  off  into  a 
f'-isillade  of  scientific  profanity,  expressive  of  his  esteem 
fer  the  girl  who  had  swung  his  team  round  the  curves, 
and  the  minerb  nodded  to  each  other,  and  winked  their  en- 
tire approval  of  Abe's  performance,  for  this  was  his  spe- 
cialty. 

"Very  decent  fellow,  Abe,  but  his  talk  wouldn't  print." 

Here  Craig  paused,  as  if  balancing  Abe's  virtues  and 
vices. 

"We!!,"  I  urged,  "who  is  she?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  recalling  himself;  "she  is  an  Edin- 
burgh young  lady — met  Lewis  Mavor,  a  young  Scotch- 
Englishman,  in  London — wealthy,  good  family  and  all 
that,  but  fast  and  going  to  pteres  at  home.  His  people, 
who  own  large  shares  in  these  mines  h°re,  as  a  last  re- 
sort sent  him  out  here  to  refoi'm.  Curiously  innocent 
ideas  those  old  country  people  have  of  the  reforming 
proj)erties  of  this  atmosphere!  They  send  their  youtig 
bloods  here  to  reform.  Here!  in  this  devil's  camp- 
grottnd,  where  a  man's  lust  is  his  only  law,  and  when, 
from  sheer  monotony,  a  man  must  betake  himself  to  the 
only  excitement  of  the  place — that  offered  by  the  saloon. 


66 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story, 


m 


)' 


, ., 


I, 


■If- 


k 


Good  people  in  the  East  liold  up  holy  hands  of  horror  at 
these  godless  miners ;  but  I  tell  you  it's  asking  these  boys 
a  good  deal  to  keep  straight  and  clean  in  a  place  Uke  this. 
I  take  my  excitement  in  fighting  the  devil  and  doing  my 
work  generally,  and  that  gives  me  enough ;  but  these  poor 
chaps — hard  worked,  homeless,  with  no  break  or  change 
— God  help  them  and  me !"  and  his  voice  sank  low. 
"Well,"  I  persisted,  "did  Mavor  reform?" 
Again  he  roused  himself.  "Reform?  Not  exactly.  In 
six  months  he  had  broken  through  all  restraint ;  and,  mind 
you,  not  the  miners*  fault — not  a  miner  helped  him  down. 
It  was  a  sight  to  make  angds  weep  when  Mrs.  Mavor 
would  come  to  the  saloon  door  for  her  husband.  Every 
miner  would  vanish ;  they  could  not  look  upon  her  shame, 
and  they  would  send  Mavor  forth  in  the  charge  of  Billy 
Breen,  a  queer  little  chap,  who  had  belonged  to  the  Ma- 
yors in  some  way  in  the  old  country,  and  between  them 
they  would  get  hirn  home.  How  she  stood  it  puzzles  me 
to  this  day ;  but  she  never  r»";ade  any  sign,  and  her  courage 
never  failed.  It  was  always  a  bright,  brave,  proud  face 
she  held  up  to  the  world — except  in  church ;  there  it  was 
different.  I  used  to  preach  my  sermons,  I  believe,  mostly 
for  her— but  never  so  that  she  could  suspect — as  bravely 
and  as  cheerily  as  I  could.  And  as  she  listened,  and  espe- 
cialy  as  she  sang — how  she  used  to  sing  in  those  days ! — 
there  was  no  touch  of  pride  in  her  face,  though  the  cour- 
age never  died  out,  but  appeal,  appeal !  I  could  have 
cursed  aloud  the  cause  of  her  misery,  or  wept  for  the  pity 
of  it.    Before  her  baby  was  born  he  seemed  to  pull  him- 


I 


Mrs.  Mavor's  Story. 


67 


self  together,  for  lie  was  quite  mad  about  her,  a:id  from 
the  day  the  baby  came — talk  about  miracles! — from  that 
day  he  never  drank  a  drop.  She  gave  the  baby  over  to 
him,  and  the  baby  simply  absorbed  him. 

"He  was  a  new  man.  He  could  not  drink  whisky  and 
kiss  his  baby.  And  the  miners — ii  was  really  absurd  if  it 
were  not  so  pathetic.  It  was  the  first  baby  in  Black  Rock, 
and  they  used  to  crowd  2\lavor's  shop  and  peep  into  the 
room  back  of  it — I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  when  he  lost  his 
position  as  manager  he  opened  a  hardware  shop,  for  his 
people  chucked  him,  and  he  was  too  proud  to  write  home 
for  money — just  for  a  chance  to  be  asked  in  to  see  the 
baby.  I  came  upon  Nixon  standing  at  the  back  of  the 
^llop  after  he  had  seen  the  baby  for  the  first  time,  sobbing 
hard,  and  to  my  question  he  replied:  'It's  just  like  my 
own.'  You  can't  understand  this.  But  to  men  who  have 
lived  so  long  in  the  mountains  that  they  have  forgotten 
what  a  baby  looks  like,  who  have  had  experience  of  hu- 
manity only  in  its  roughest,  foulest  form,  this  little  mite, 
sweet  and  clean,  was  like  an  angel  fresh  from  heaven,  the 
one  link  in  all  that  black  camp  that  bound  them  tc  what 
was  purest  and  best  in  their  past. 

"And  to  see  the  mother  and  her  baby  handle  the  min- 
ers! 

"Oh,  it  was  all  beautiful  beyond  words!  I  shall  never 
forget  the  shock  I  got  one  night  when  I  found  'Old  Rick- 
etts'  nursing  the  baby.  A  drunken  old  beast  he  was ;  but 
there  he  wa<  sitting,  sober  enough,  making  extraordinary 
faces  at  the  baby,  who  was  grubbing  at  his  nose  and  whis- 


fit 

It 


■J  SJ  ■ 

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II 


I   f 


68 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story, 


kcrs  and  cooing  in  blissful  delight.  Poor  'Old  RickeUg' 
looked  a?  if  he  had  been  caught  stealing,  and  muttering 
something  about  having  to  go,  gazed  wildly  round  for 
some  place  in  which  to  lay  the  baby,  when  in  came  the 
mother,  saying  in  her  own  sweet,  frank  way:  'Oh,  Mr. 
ivicketts  (she  didn't  find  out  till  afterward  his  name  was 
Shaw),  would  you  mind  keeping  her  just  a  little  longer? 
I  shall  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.'  And  'Old  Ricketts' 
i^uessed  he  could  wait. 

"But  in  six  months  mother  and  baby,  between  theirl, 
transformed  'Old  Ricketts'  into  Mr.  Shaw,  fire-boss  of  the 
mines.  And  then  in  the  even-'ngs,  when  she  would  he 
singing  her  baby  to  sleep,  the  little  shop  would  be  full  of 
miners,  listening  in  dead  silence  to  the  baby  songs,  and  the 
English  songs,  and  the  Scotch  songs  she  poured  forth 
without  stint,  for  she  sang  more  for  them  than  for  her 
baby.  No  wonder  they  adored  her.  She  was  so  bright, 
so  gay,  she  brought  light  with  her  when  she  went  into  the 
camp,  into  the  pits — for  she  went  down  to  see  the  men 
work — or  into  a  sick  miner's  shack;  and  many  a  man, 
lonely  and  sick  for  home  or  wife,  or  baby  or  mother,  found 
in  that  back  room  cheer  and  comfort  and  courage,  and  to 
liiany  a  poor  broken  wretch  that  room  became,  as  one 
miner  put  it,  'the  anteroom  of  heaven.'  " 

Mr.  Craig  paused,  and  I  waited.  Then  he  went  on, 
slowly : 

"For  a  year  and  a  half  that  was  the  happiest  home  in  all 
tiie  world,  till  one  day " 

He  put  his  face  in  Ins  hands  and  shuddered. 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story, 


69 


"I  don't  think  I  can  ever  forget  the  awful  horror  of 
that  bright  fall  afternoon,  when  'Old  Ricketts'  came 
breathless  to  me  and  gasped,  'Come !  for  the  dear  Lord's 
sake,'  and  I  rushed  after  him.  At  the  mouth  of  the  shaft 
hiy  three  men  dead.  One  was  Lewis  Mavor.  He  hail 
gtjiie  down  to  superintend  the  running  of  a  new  drift,  the 
I  wo  men,  half  drunk  with  Slavin's  whisky,  set  off  a  shot 
])rematurely,  to  their  own  and  Mavor's  destruction.  They 
uere  badly  burned,  but  his  face  was  untouched.  A  miner 
was  sponging  off  the  bloody  froth  oozing  from  his  lips. 
The  others  were  standing  about  waiting  for  me  to  speak. 
But  I  could  find  no  wo  1,  for  my  heart  was  sick,  thinking, 
as  they  were,  of  the  young  mother  and  her  baby  waiting  at 
home.  So  I  stood,  looking  stupidly  from  one  to  the  other, 
trying  to  find  some  reason — coward  that  I  was — why  an- 
other should  bear  the  news  rather  than  T.  And  while  we 
stood  there,  looking  at  one  another  in  fear,  there  broke 
upon  us  the  sound  of  a  voice,  mounting  high  above  the 
birch  tops,  singing: 

"  'Will  ye  no*  come  back  again? 
Will  ye  no'  come  back  again? 
Better  lo'ed  ye  canna  be, 
Will  ye  no'  come  bade  again?' 

"A  Strange  terror  seized  us.     Instinctively    the    men 

closed  up  in  front  of  the  body,  and  stood  in  silence. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  clear,  sweet  voice,  ringing 

like  a  silver  bell,  up  the  steep : 

"  'Sweet  the  lav'rock's  note  and  lang, 

Liltin'  wildly  up  the  glen, 
But  aye  tae  me  he  sings  ae  sang. 

Will  ye  no'  come  back  again?' 


I 


a 


1% 


If! 

til' 


i  ■■•• ' 


70 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story. 


"Before  the  verse  was  finished  'Old  Ricketts'  had 
dropped  on  his  knees,  sobbing  out  brokenly,  'O  God!  O 
God !  have  pity,  have  pity,  have  pity ! — and  every  man 
took  off  his  hat.  And  still  the  voice  came  nearer,  singing 
so  brightly  the  refrain : 

"  'Will  ye  no'  come  back  again?' 

"It  became  unbearable.  'Old  Ricketts'  sprang  sud- 
denly to  his  feet,  and,  gripping  me  by  the  arm,  said  pite- 
ously,  'Oh,  go  to  her!  for  heaven's  sake  go  to  her!*  I 
next  remember  standing  in  her  path  and  seeing  her  hold- 
ing out  her  hands  full  ot  icd  lilies,  crying  out,  'Are  they 
not  lovely !  Lewis  is  so  fond  of  them !'  With  the  promise 
of  much  finer  ones,  I  turned  her  down  a  path  toward  the 
river,  talking  1  know  not  what  folly,  till  her  great  eyes 
grew  grave,  then  anxious,  and  my  tongue  stammered  and 
became  silent.  Then,  laying  her  hand  upon  my  arm,  she 
said,  with  gentle  sweetness,  'Tell  me  your  trouble,  Mr. 
Craig,'  and  I  knew  my  agony  had  come,  and  I  burst  out, 
*01i,  if  it  were  only  mine!'  She  turned  quite  white,  and 
with  her  deep  eyes — you've  noticed  her  eyes — drawing 
the  truth  out  of  mine,  she  said  :  *Is  it  mine,  Mr.  Craig,  and 
my  baby's?'  T  waited,  thinking  with  what  words  to  be- 
gin. She  put  one  hand  to  her  heart,  and  with  the  other 
caught  a  little  poplar  tree  that  shivered  under  her  grasp, 
and  said,  with  white  li{)s.  but  even  more  gently,  'Tell  me.' 
I  wondered  at  my  voice  being  so  steady  as  I  said,  'Mrs. 
Mavor,  God  will  help  ynu  and  your  baby.  There  has  been 
an  Occident — and  it  v>  all  over.' 


Mrs.  flavor's  Story. 


71 


"She  was  a  nincr's  wife,  and  there  was  no  need  for 
more.  I  could  ".ee  the  pattern  of  the  sunlight  falHng 
through  the  trees  upon  the  grass.  I  could  hear  the  mur- 
mur of  the  river  and  the  cry  of  the  catbird  in  the  bushes, 
but  we  seemed  to  be  in  a  strange  and  unreal  world.  Sud- 
denly she  stretched  out  her  hands  to  me,  and  with  a  litl^o 
moan  said^  'Take  me  to  him.' 

*'  'Sit  down  for  a  moment  or  two/  I  entreated. 

'*  'No,  no!  I  am  quiti  ready.  See,'  she  added,  quietly, 
'I  am  quite  strong.' 

"I  set  oflf  by  a  short  cut  leading  to  her  home,  hoping  the 
men  would  be  there  before  us;  but,  passing  me,  she 
walked  swiftly  through  the  trce^^,  and  I  followed  in  fear. 
As  we  came  near  the  main  path  I  heard  the  sound  of  feet, 
and  I  tried  to  stop  her,  but  she,  to^,  had  heard  and  knew, 
'Oh,  let  me  go!'  she  said  piteously-*  'you  need  not  fear.* 
And  I  had  not  the  heart  to  stop  her.  In  a  little  opening 
among  the  pines  we  met  the  bearers.  When  the  men  saw 
her  the;/  laid  the  burden  gently  down  ipon  the  carpet  of 
yellow  pine-needles,  and  then,  for  they  hnd  the  hearts  of 
true  men  in  th.  ,n,  they  went  away  into  the  bushes  and  left 
her  alone  with  her  dead.  She  went  swiftly  to  his  side, 
making  no  cry,  but,  kneeling  beside  him,  she  stroked  his 
face  and  hands,  and  touched  his  curls  with  her  finches 
murmuring  all  the  time  soft  words  of  love,  *0h,  my  dar- 
ling, my  bonnie,  bonnie  darling,  speak  to  met  Will  ye 
rot  speak  to  me  just  one  little  word?  Oh,  my  tove,  my 
love,  my  heart's  love!     Listen,  my  darling!'     Arc?   she 


\ 


72 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Stor^-. 


mit  her  lips  to  his  ear,  whispering,  and  then  the  awful 
stilhiess.  Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head  and  scanned  his 
face,  and  then,  glancing  round  with  a  wild  surprise  in  her 
e\  es,  she  cried,  'He  will  not  speak  to  me !  Oh,  he  will  not 
speak  to  me !'  I  signed  to  the  men,  and  as  they  came  for- 
ward I  went  to  her  and  took  her  hands. 

"  *0h,*  she  said,  with  a  wail  in  her  voice;  'he  will  not 
speak  to  me.'  The  men  were  sobbing  aloud.  She  looked 
at  them  with  wide-open  eyes  of  wonder.  'Why  are  they 
weeping?  Will  he  never  speak  to  me  again?  Tell  me/ 
she  insisted  gently.  The  words  were  running  through  my 
head : 

"  'There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than   day,* 

and  I  said  them  over  to  her,  holding  her  hands  firmly  in 
mine.  She  gazed  at  me  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  the  light 
slowly  faded  from  her  eyes  as  she  said,  tearing  her  hands 
from  mine  and  waving  them  toward  the  mountains  and 
the  woods: 

"  'But  never  more  here  ?  Never  more  here  ?' 
"I  believe  in  heaven  and  the  other  life,  but  I  confess 
that  for  a  moment  it  all  seemed  shadowy  beside  the  reality 
of  this  warm,  bright  world,  full  of  life  and  love.  She  was 
very  ill  for  two  nights,  and  when  the  coffin  was  closed  a 
new  baby  lay  in  the  father's  prms. 
"She  slowly  came  back  to  life,  but  there  were  no  more 

songs.  The  miners  still  come  about  her  shop,  and  talk 
to  her  baby,  and  bring  her  their  sorrows  and  troubles ;  but, 

though  she  is  always  gentle,  almost  tender  with  them,  no 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story. 


73 


man  ever  says  'Sing.*  And  that  is  why  1  am  glad  she 
sang  last  week ;  it  will  be  good  for  her  and  good  for  them.' 

"Why  does  she  stay  ?"  I  asked. 

"Mayor's  people  wanted  her  to  go  to  them,"  he  replied. 

"They  have  money — she  told  me  about  it,  but  her  heart 
is  in  the  grave  up  there  under  the  pines ;  and,  besides,  she 
hopes  to  do  something  for  the  miners,  and  she  will  not 
leave  them." 

I  am  afraid  I  snorted  a  little  impatiently  as  I  said: 
"Nonsense!  Why,  with  her  face  and  manner  and  voice 
she  could  be  anything  she  liked  in  Edinburgh  or  in 
London." 

"And  why  Edinburgh  or  London  ?"  he  asked,  coolly. 

"Why?"  I  repeated  a  little  hotly.  "You  think  this  is 
better?" 

"Nazareth  was  good  enough  for  the  Lord  of  glory,"  he 
answered,  with  a  smile  none  too  bright ;  but  it  drew  my 
heart  to  him,  and  my  heat  was  gone. 

"How  long  will  she  stay  ?"  I  asked. 

"Till  her  work  is  done,"  he  replied. 

"And  when  will  that  be?"  I  asked,  impatiently. 

"When  God  chooses,"  he  answered,  gravely ;  "and  don't 
you  ever  think  but  that  it  is  worth  while.  One  value  of 
work  is  not  that  crowds  stare  at  it.    Read  history,  man  !* 

He  rose  abruptly  and  began  to  walk  about.  "And  don  a 
miss  the  whole  meaning  of  the  Life  that  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  your  religion.  Yes,"  he  added  to  himself,  "the 
»Y0rk  is  worth  doing — worth  even  her  doing." 


n 


74 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story, 


T  could  not  think  so  then,  but  the  light  of  the  after 
years  proved  him  wiser  than  I.  A  man,  to  sec  far,  must 
climb  to  some  height,  and  I  was  too  much  upon  the  plain 
in  those  days  to  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  distant  sunlit  up- 
lands of  triumphant  achievement  that  lie  beyond  the  val- 
lev  of  self-sacrifice. 


M" 


;i 


Wi  '■ 


■I 


i 


h. 


e  after 
',  must 
e  plain 
ilit  up- 
^le  val- 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    MAKING    OF    THE    LEAGUE. 

Thursday  morning  found  Craig  anxious,  even  gloomy, 
but  with  figiit  in  every  line  of  his  face.  T  tried  to  cheer 
him  in  my  clumsy  way  by  chaffing  him  about  his  League. 
But  he  did  not  blaze  up  as  he  often  did.  It  was  a  thing 
too  near  his  heart  for  that.  He  only  shrank  a  little  from 
my  stupid  chaff  and  said : 

"Don't,  old  chap;  this  is  a  good  deal  to  me.  I've  tried 
for  two  years  to  get  this,  and  if  it  falls  through  now,  I 
shall  find  it  hard  to  bear." 

Then  I  repented  my  light  words  and  said:  "Why! 
the  thing  will  go  sure  enough;  after  that  scene  in  the 
church  they  won't  go  back." 

"Poor  fellows!"  he  said  as  if  to  himself;  "whisky  is 
about  the  only  excitement  they  have,  and  they  find  it 
pretty  tough  to  give  it  up;  and  a  lot  of  the  men  are 
against  the  total  abstinence  idea.    It  seems  rot  to  them." 

"It  is  i^^retty  steep."  I  said.    "Can't  you  do  without  it?" 

"No ;  I  fear  not.  There  is  nothing  else  for  it.  Some 
of  them  talk  of  compromise.  They  want  to  quit  the 
saloon  and  drink  quietly  in  their  shacks.  The  moderate 
drinker  may  have  his  place  in  other  countries,  though  I 
can't  see  it.  I  haven't  thought  that  out,  but  here  the 
only  safe  man  is  the  man  who  quits  it  dead  and  fights  it 


76 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


li: 


straight,  anything  else  is  shf^rest  humbug  an^ 
nonsense." 

I  had  not  gone  in  much  for  total  abstinence  up  to  this 
time,  chiefly  because  its  advocates  secmcc  for  the  most 
part  to  be  somewhat  ill-balanced ;  but  as  I  listened  to 
Craig,  I  began  to  feel  that  perhaps  there  v  as  a  total  ab- 
stinence side  to  the  temperance  question ;  and  as  to 
Black  Rock,  I  could  see  how  it  must  be  oi» ».  thing  or  the 
other. 

We  found  Mrs.  Mavor  brave  and  bright  She  shared 
Mr.  Craig's  anxiety  but  not  his  gloom.  Her  courage 
was  of  that  serene  kind  that  refuses  to  believe  defeat  pos- 
sible, and  lifts  the  spirit  into  the  triumph  of  final  victory. 
Through  the  past  week  she  had  been  carefulfy  disposing 
her  forces  and  winning  recruits.  And  yet  she  never 
seemed  to  urge  or  persuade  the  men;  but  as  evening 
after  evening  the  miners  dropped  into,  the  cosy  room 
downstairs,  with  her  talk  and  her  songs  she  charmed 
them  till  they  were  wholly  hers.  She  took  for  granted 
their  loyalty,  trusted  them  utterly,  and  so  made  it  diffi- 
cult for  them  to  be  other  than  true  men. 

That  night  Mrs.  Mavor's  large  storeroom,  which  had 
been  fitted  up  with  seats,  was  crowded  with  miners  when 
Mr.  Craig  and  I  entered. 

After  a  glance  over  the  crowd,  Craig  said,  "There's 
the  manager;  that  means  war."  /ind  I  saw  a  tall  man, 
very  fair,  whose  chin  fell  away  to  the  yanishing  ^"oint,  and 
whose  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle,  talking  to  Mrs. 
Mavor.     She  was  dressed  in  some  rich  soft  «tuff  that 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


77 


became  her  well.  She  was  looking  beautiful  as  ever,  but 
there  was  something  quite  new  in  her  manner.  Her  air 
of  good-fellowship  was  gone,  and  she  was  the  high-bred 
lady,  whose  gentle  dignity  and  sweet  grace,  while  very 
winning,  made  familiarity  impossible. 

The  manager  was  doing  his  best,  and  appeared  to  be 
well  pleased  with  himself.  "She'll  get  him  if  any  one 
can.    X  failed,"  said  Craig. 

I  stood  looking  at  the  men,  and  a  fine  lot  of  fellows 
they  were.  Free,  easy,  L-IJ  in  their  bearing,  they  gave 
no  sign  of  rudeness ;  and,  from  their  frequent  glances  to- 
ward Mrs.  Mavor,  I  could  see  they  were  always  con- 
scious of  her  presence.  No  men  are  so  truly  gentle  as  are 
the  Westerners  in  the  presence  of  a  good  woman.  They 
were  evidently  of  all  classes  and  ranks  originally,  but  now 
and  in  this  country  of  real  measurements,  they  ranked 
simply  according  to  the  "man"  in  them.  "See  ihat  hand- 
some youn/^  chap  of  dissipated  appearance  ?"  said  Craig ; 
"that's  Veinon  Winton,  an  Oxford  graduate,  blue  blood, 
awfully  plucky,  but  quite  gone.  When  he  gets  repen- 
tant, instead  of  shooting  himself,  he  comes  to  Mrs. 
Mavor.    Fact." 

"From  Oxford  University  to  Black  Rock  mining- 
camp  is  something  of  a  step,"  I  replied. 

"That  queer  looking  little  chap  in  the  corner  is  Biily 
Breen  How  in  the  world  has  he  got  here?"  went  on 
Mr.  C(*ig.  Queer-looking  he  was.  A  little  man,  with  a 
small  head  set  on  heavy,  square  shoulders,  long  arms, 


i 


I!' 


h\ 


1^       ! 

•II 


78 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


and  huge  hands  that  sprawled  all  over  his  ])ody ;  alto- 
gether a  most  ungainly  specimen  of  humanity. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Mavor  had  finished  with  the  mana- 
ger, and  was  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  miners.  Her 
grand  air  was  all  gone,  and  she  was  their  comrade,  their 
friend,  one  of  themselves.  Nor  did  she  assume  the  role 
of  entertainer,  but  rather  did  she,  with  half-shy  air,  cast 
herself  upon  their  chivalry,  and  they  were  too  truly  gen- 
tlemen to  fail  her.  It  is  hard  to  make  Western  men,  and 
especially  old-timers  talk.  But  this  gift  was  hers,  and  it 
stirred  my  admiration  to  see  her  draw  on  a  grizzled  vet- 
eran to  tell  how,  twenty  years  ago,  he  had  crossed  the 
Great  Divide,  and  had  seen  and  done  what  no  longer  fell 
to  men  to  see  or  do  in  these  new  days.  And  so  she  won 
the  old-timer.  But  it  was  be  atiful  to  see  the  innocent 
guile  with  which  she  caught  Billy  Brcen,  and  drew  him 
to  her  corner  near  the  organ.  What  she  was  saying  I 
knew  not,  but  poor  Pilly  was  protesting,  waving  his  big 
hands. 

The  meeting  cpme  to  order,  with  Shaw  in  the  chair, 
and  the  handsome  young  Oxford  man  secretary.  Shaw 
stated  the  object  of  the  meeting  in  a  few  halting  \vords; 
but  when  he  came  to  speak  of  the  plea'^ure  he  and  all  felt 
in  being  together  in  that  room,  his  words  flower  1  in  a 
stream,  warm  and  full.  Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  i\lr. 
Craig  was  called.  But  he  knew  better  than  to  speak  at 
that  point.  Finally  Nixon  rose  hesitatingly ;  but,  as  he 
caught  a  1  right  smile  from  Mrs.  Mavor,  he  strai^jhtened 
himself  a:  i^  for  a  tight. 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


79 


"I  ain't  no  good  at  makin'  speeches,"  he  began;  "but 
it  ain't  speeches  \vc  want.  We've  got  somctliin'  to  do, 
and  what  we  want  to  know  is  how  to  do  it.  And  to  bo 
right  plain,  we  want  to  know  how  to  drive  this  cursed 
whisky  out  of  Black  Rock.  You  all  know  what  it's  do- 
ing for  us — at  least  for  some  of  us.  And  it's  time  to  stop 
it  now,  or  lor  some  of  us  it'll  mi.c^hly  soon  be  too  late. 
And  the  only  way  to  stop  its  work  is  to  quit  drinkin'  it 
and  help  others  to  quit.  I  hear  some  talk  of  a  League, 
and  what  I  say  is,  if  it's  a  League  out  and  out  against 
whisky,  a  Total  Abstinence  right  to  the  ground,  then  I'm 
with  it — that's  my  talk — I  move  we  make  that  kind  of 
League." 

Nixon  sat  down  amia  cheers  and  a  chorus  of  remarks, 
'^Gooa  -nan !"  "That's  the  talk !"  "Stay  with  it !"  but  he 
waited  for  the  smile  and  the  glance  that  came  to  liim 
from  the  beautiful  face  in  the  corner,  and  with  that  he 
seemed  content. 

Again  there  was  silence.  Then  tjie  secretary  rose  with 
a  slight  flush  upon  his  handsome,  delicate  face,  and  sec- 
onded the  motion.  If  they  would  pardon  a  personal 
reference  he  would  give  them  his  reasons.  He  had  come 
to  this  country  to  make  his  fortune ;  now  he  was  anxious 
to  make  enough  to  enable  him  to  go  home  with  some 
degree  of  honor.  His  home  held  everything  that  was 
dear  to  him.  Between  him  and  that  home,  bet  veen  him 
and  all  that  was  good  and  beautiful  and  honorable,  stood 
whisky.  "I  am  ashamed  to  confess,"  and  the  flush  deep- 
ened on  his  cheek,  and  his  lips  grew  thinner,  "that  I  feel 


to 


The  Mak'ug  of  the  lyeugiie. 


Uln  " 


ti 
Mi 


1 

I 


the  need  of  some  such  league."  His  handsome  face,  his 
perfect  style  of  address,  learned  possibly  in  the  "Union," 
but,  more  than  all,  his  show  of  nerve — for  these  men  knew 
how  to  value  that — made  a  strong  impression  on  hi« 
audience ;  but  there  was  no  following  cheers, 

Mr.  Craig  appeared  hopeful ;  but  on  Mrs.  Mavor's. 
face  there  was  a  look  of  wistful,  tender  pity,  for  she  knew 
how  much  the  words  had  cost  the  lad. 

Then  up  rose  a  sturdy,  hard-featured  man,  with  a  burr 
in  his  voice  that  proclaimed  his  birth.  His  name  was 
George  Crawford,  I  afterward  learned,  but  every  one 
called  him  Geordie.  He  was  a  character  in  his  way,  fond 
of  his  glass ;  but  though  he  was  never  known  to  refuse 
a  drink,  he  was  never  known  to  be  drunk.  He  took  his 
drink,  for  the  most  part,  with  bread  and  cheese  in  his 
own  shack,  or  with  a  friend  or  two  in  a  sober,  respectable 
way,  but  never  could  be  induced  to  join  the  wild  carous- 
als in  Slavin's  saloon.  He  made  the  highest  wages,  but 
was  far  too  true  a  Scot  to  spend  his  money  recklessly. 
Every  one  waited  eagerly  to  hear  Geordie's  mind.  He 
spoke  solemnly,  as  befitted  a  Scotsman  expressing  a  de- 
liberate opinion,  and  carefully,  as  if  choosing  his  best 
English,  for  when  Geordie  became  excited  no  one  in 
Black  Rock  could  understand  him. 

"Maister  Chairman,"  said  Geord'",  "I'm  aye  for  tem- 
perance in  a'  things."  There  was  a  shout  of  laughter, 
at  which  Geordie  gazed  round  in  pained  surprise. 
"I'll  no'  deny,"  he  went  on  in  an  explanatory  tone,  "that 
I  tak  ma  momin',  an*  maybe  a  nip  at  noon,  an'  a  wee 


Tbe  Makiug  of  the  League. 


8t 


in 


drap  aifter  wark  in  the  evenin',  an'  whiles  a  sip  o'  toddy 
wi'  a  free  thae  cauld  nichts.  But  Im  no'  a  guzzler,  an'  I 
dinna  gang  in  wi'  thae  loons  flingin'  aboot  guid  money." 

"And  that's  thrue  for  you,  me  bye,"  interrupted  a  rich 
Irish  brogue,  to  the  delight  of  the  crowd  and  the  amaze- 
ment of  Geordie,  who  went  calmly  on : 

"An'  I  canna  bide  yon  saloon  whaur  they  sell  sic  awfu'- 
!ike  stuff — it's  mair  like  lye  nor  guid  whisky — and  whaur 
ye're  never  sure  o'  yer  richt  change.  It's  an 
awfu'-like  place,  man !" — and  Geordie  began  to  warm  up 
—"ye  can  juist  smell  the  sulphur  when  ye  gang  in.  But 
I  dinna  care  aboot  thae  Temperance  Soceeities,  wi'  their 
pledges  an'  havers ;  an'  I  canna  see  what  hairm  can  come 
till  a  man  by  takin'  a  bottle  o*  guid  Glenlivet  hamc  wi* 
him.    I  canna  bide  thae  teetotal  buddies." 

Geordie's  speech  was  followed  by  loud  applause,  partly 
appreciative  of  Geordie  himself,  but  largely  sympathetic 
with  his  position. 

Two  or  three  men  followed  in  the  same  strain,  advo- 
cating a  league  for  mutual  improvement  and  social  pur- 
poses, but  without  the  teetotal  pledge ;  they  were  against 
the  saloon,  but  didn't  see  why  they  should  not  take  a 
drink  now  and  then. 

Finally  the  manager  rose  to  support  his  "friend,  Mistah 
— ah — Cwafoad,"  ridiculing  the  idea  of  a  total  abstinence 
pledge  as  fanatical  and  indeed  "absuad."  He  was  op- 
posed to  the  saloon,  and  would  like  to  see  a  club  formed, 
with  a  comfortable  club-room,  books,  magazines,  pictures, 
games,  anything,  "dontcherknow,  to  make  the  time  pass 


H' 

U^-' 


82 


The  Makiug  of  the  League. 


tFi 


pleasantly;"  but  it  was  "absuad  to  ask  men  to  abstain 
fworn  a  pvvopah  use  of — aw — nouwishing  dwi.iks,"  be- 
cause some  men  made  beasts  of  themselves.  He  conclud- 
ed by  oflfering  $50  toward  the  si^pport  of  such  a  club. 

The  current  of  feeling  v/as  settling  strongly  against 
the  total  abstinence  idea,  and  Craig's  face  was  hard  and 
his  eyes  gleamed  like  coals.  Then  he  did  a  bit  of  general- 
ship. He  proposed  that  since  they  had  the  two  plans 
clearly  before  them  they  should  take  a  few  minutes'  inter- 
mission in  which  to  make  up  their  minds,  and  he  was  sure 
they  would  be  glad  to  have  Mrs.  Mavor  sing.  In  the  in- 
terval the  men  talked  in  groups,  eagerly,  even  fiercely, 
hampered  seriously  in  the  forceful  expression  of  their 
opinion  by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Mavor,  who 
glided  from  group  to  group,  dropping  a  word  here  and  a 
smile  there.  She  reminded  me  of  a  general  riding  along 
the  ranks,  bracing  the  men  for  the  coming  battle.  She 
paused  beside  Geordie,  spoke  earnestly  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, while  Geordie  gazed  solemnly  at  her,  and  then  she 
came  back  to  Billy  in  the  corner  near  me.  What  she  was 
saying  I  could  not  hear,  but  poor  Billy  was  protesting, 
spreading  his  hands  out  aimlessly  before  him,  but  gazing 
at  her  the  while  in  dumb  admiration.  Then  she  came  to 
me.  "Poor  Billy,  he  was  good  to  my  husband,"  she  »aid, 
softly,  "and  he  has  such  a  good  heart." 

"He's  not  much  to  look  at,"  I  could  not  help  saying. 

"The  oyster  hides  its  pearl,"  she  answered,  a  little  re- 
proachfully. 


The  Making  of  the  League.  83 

"The  shell  is  apparent  enough,"  I  replied,  for  the  mis- 
chief was  in  me. 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  replied,  softly,  "but  it  is  the  pearl  we 
love." 

I  moved  over  beside  Billy,  whose  eyes  were  following 
Mrs.  flavor,  as  she  went  to  speak  to  Mr.  Craig.  "Well," 
I  said,  "you  all  seem  to  have  a  high  opinion  of  her." 

"An  'igh  hopinion,"  he  replied,  in  deep  scorn.  "An 
'igh  hopinion,  you  calls  it." 

"What  would  you  call  it?"  I  asked,  wishing  to  draw 
him  out." 

"Oi  don't  call  it  nothink,"  he  replied,  spreading  out  his 
rough  hands. 

"She  seems  very  nice,"  I  said,  indifferently. 

He  drew  his  eyes  away  irom  Mrs.  Mavor,  and  gave 
attention  to  me  for  the  first  time. 

"Nice !"  he  repeated  with  fine  contempt ;  and  then  he 
added,  impressively,  "Them  as  don't  know  shouldn't  say 
nothink." 

"You  are  right,"  I  answered,  earnestly,  "and  I  am  quite 
df  your  opinion." 

He  gave  me  a  quic'*  '.lance  out  of  his  little,  deep-set, 
dark -blue  eyes,  and  opened  his  heart  to  me.  He  told  me, 
in  Iiis  quaL.l  speech,  how  again  and  again  she  had  taken 
him  in  and  nursed  him,  and  encouraged  him,  and  sent  him 
out  with  a  new  heart  for  his  battle,  until,  for  very  shame's 
sake  at  his  own  miserable  weakness,  he  had  kep-  out  of 
her  way  for  many  months,  going  steadily  down. 

"Now,  Oi  hain't  got  no  grin;  hut  when  she  says  to  me 


«4 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


iM 


H 


L'i       ! 


I 


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■■l> 

^ 


to-night,  says  she,  'Oh,  Billy' — she  calls  me  Bi^ly  to  my- 
self'"  (this  with  a  touch  of  pride)— " 'Oh,  Billy,'  says 
•she,  'we  must  'ave  a  total  habstinence  league  to-night,  and 
Oi  want  you  to  'elp !'  and  she  keeps  a-loo'vin'  at  nic  with 
those  heyes  o'  hern  till,  if  you  believe  me,  sir,"  lowering 
his  voice  to  an  emphatic  whisper,  "though  Oi  knowed  Oi 
couldn't  'elp  none,  afore  Oi  knowed  Oi  promised  'er  Oi 
would.  It's  'er  heyes.  Wh^n  them  heyes  says  'do,'  hup 
you  steps  and  'does.' " 

I  remembered  my  first  look  into  r  ri  eyes,  and  I  could 
quite  understand  Billy's  submission.  Just  as  she  began  to 
sing  I  went  over  to  Geordie  and  took  my  seat  beside  him. 
She  began  with  an  English  slumber  song,  "Sleep,  Baby, 
Sleep" — one  of  Barry  Cornwall's,  I  think — and  then  sang 
a  love  song  with  the  refrain,  "Love  once  again ;"  but  no 
thrills  came  to  nir,  and  I  began  to  wonder  if  her  spell  over 
rne  was  broken.  Geordie,  who  had  been  listening  some- 
what indifferently,  encouraged  me,  however,  by  saying: 
"She's  just  pittin'  aff  time  with  thae  feckless  sangs;  man, 
there's  nae  grup  till  them."  But  when,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' pause,  she  began  "My  Ain  Fireside,"  Geordie  gave 
a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "Ay,  that's  something  like,*'  and 
when  she  finished  the  first  verse  he  gave  me  a  dig  in  the 
ribs  with  his  elbow  that  took  my  breath  away,  saying  in 
a  whisper,  "Man,  hear  till  yon,  wull  ye?"  And  again  I 
found  the  spell  upon  me.    It  was  not  the  voice  after  all, 

I 

but  the  great  soul  behind  that  thrilled  and  compelled. 
She  was  'feing,  feeling,  living  what  she  sang,  and  her 


4 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


85 


voice  showed  us  her  heart.  The  cozy  fireside,  with  its 
bonnie,  blithe  bHnk,  where  no  care  could  abide,  but  only 
peace  and  love,  was  vividly  present  to  her,  and  as  she 
sang  we  saw  it  too.    When  she  came  to  the  last  verse : 

"When  I  diaw  in  my  stool 

On  my  cozy  hearth-stane, 
My  heart  loups  sae  licht 

I  scarce  ken't  for  my  ain," 

there  was  a  feeling  of  tears  in  the  flowing  song,  and  we 
knew  the  words  had  brought  her  a  picture  of  the  fireside 
that  would  always  seem  empty.  I  felt  the  tears  in  my 
eyes,  and,  wondering  at  myself,  I  cast  a  stealthy  glance  at 
the  men  about  me ;  and  I  saw  that  they,  too,  were  looking 
through  their  hearts'  windows  upon  firesides  and  ingle- 
neuks  that  gleamed  from  afar. 

And  then  she  sang  "The  Auld  Hoose,"  and  Geordie, 
giving  me  another  poke,  said,  "That's  ma  ain  sang,"  and 
when  I  asked  him  what  he  meant,  he  whispered,  fiercely, 
"Wheesht,  man!"  and  I  did,  for  his  face  looked  dan- 
gerous. 

In  a  pause  between  the  verses  I  heard  Geordie  saying 
to  himself,  "Ay,  I  maun  gie  it  up,  T  doot." 

"What?"  I  ventured. 

"Naething  ava."  And  then  he  added,  impatiently: 
"Man,  but  ye're  an  inqueesitive  buddie,"  after  which  I 
subsided  into  silence. 

Immediately  upon  the  meeting  being  called  to  order, 
Mr.  Craig  made  his  speech,  and  it  was  a  fine  bit  of  work. 
Beginning  with  a  clear  statement  of  the  object  in  view,  he 


}(>  ; 


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;l       I 


IH' 


86 


The  Making  of  the  lyeague. 


set  in  contrast  tlie  two  kinds  of  leagues  proposed.  One,  a 
league  of  men  who  would  take  whisky  in  moderation;  the 
other,  a  league  of  men  who  were  pledged  to  drink  none 
themselves,  and  to  prevent  in  every  honorahle  way  others 
from  drinking.  There  was  no  long  argument,  but  he 
spoke  at  white  heat ;  and  as  lie  appealed  to  the  men  to 
think,  each  not  of  himself  alone,  hut  of  the  others  as  well, 
the  yearning,  born  of  his  long  months  of  desire  and  toil, 
vibrated  in  his  voice  and  reached  to  the  heart.  Many  men 
looked  uncomfortable  and  uncertain,  and  even  the  man- 
ager looked  noiu'  too  cheerful. 

At  this  critical  moment  the  crowd  got  a  shock.  Billy 
Brcen  sliiililed  out  to  the  front,  and,  in  a  voice  shaking 
with  1  .M-vous(.ess  and  emotion,  began  to  spcik,  his  large, 
coar.'  ■>  hands  wandering  tremulously  about. 

"Oi  hain't  no  bloomin'  temperance  horator,  and  mayhap 
Oi  liaiTi't  no  right  to  speak  'ere,  but  Oi  got  somethin'  to 
saigh  (say)  and  Oi'm  agoin'  to  saigh  it. 

"Parson,  'ee  says  is  it  wisky  or  no  wisky  in  this  'ere 
club?  If  ye  hask  me,  wich  (which)  ye  don't,  then  no 
wisky,  says  Oi ;  and  if  ye  hask  why? — look  at  me !  Once 
Oi  couKl  mine  more  coal  than  hany  man  in  the  camp; 
now  Oi  hain't  fit  to  be  a  sorter.  Once  Oi  'ad  some  pride 
and  hambition ;  now  Oi  'angs  around  avvaitin'  for  some 
one  to  saigh,  '  'Ere,  Billy,  'ave  summat.'  Once  Oi  made 
good  paigh  (pay),  and  sent  it  'ome  regular  to  my  poor  old 
mother  (she's  in  the  wukus  now,  she  is)  ;  Oi  hain't  sent 
'er  hany  for  a  year  and  a  'alf.     Once  Billy  was  a  good 


WB^i 


The  M;i!;iiig  of  the  League. 


87 


fellow  and  'ad  plenty  o'  friends;  now  Siavin  'issclf  kicks 
un  liout,  'ee  does.  Why?  why?"  His  voice  rose  to  a 
shriek.  "Because  when  liiily  'ad  money  in  'is  pocket, 
lievery  man  in  this  hloomin'  camp  as  meets  un  at  hevcry 
corner  says,  '  'I'lllo,  IJilly,  wat'll  ye  'ave?'  And  there'.s 
wisky  at  Slavin's,  and  there's  wisky  in  the  shacks,  and 
hcvery  'oliday  and  hevcry  Sunday  there's  wisky,  and  w'cn 
ye  feci  bad  it's  wisky,  and  w'cn  ye  feel  good  it's  wisky, 
wisky,  wisky  !  And  now  ye're  goin'  to  stop  it,  and  'ow  ? 
T'  manager,  'ce  says  picters  and  magazines.  'Ee  takes  'is 
wine  and  'is  beer  like  a  gentleman,  'ee  does,  and  'ee  don't 
'ave  no  use  for  Billy  Breen.  Billy,  'ee's  a  beast,  and  t' 
manager,  'ee  kicks  un  hout.  But  supposin'  I'illy  wants  to 
slop  bein'  a  beast,  and  starts  a-tryin'  to  be  a  man  again, 
and  w'en  'se  gets  good  an'  dry,  along  comes  some  nn  and 
says,  '  'EUo,  Billy,  'ave  a  smile,'  it  hain't  ])icters  nor  maga- 
zines 'ud  stop  un  then.  Picters  and  magazines!  Gawd 
'clp  the  man  as  hain't  nothin'  but  picters  and  magazines  to 
'dp  un  w'en  'ee's  got  a  devil  hinside  and  a  devil  houtside 
a-shovin'  and  a-drawin'  of  un  down  to  'ell.  And  that's 
w'cre  Oi'm  goin'  straight,  and  yer  hloomin'  League,  wisky 
or  no  v.'isky,  can't  help  me.  But,'  and  he  lifted  his  trem- 
bling hands  above  his  head,  'if  ye  stop  the  Avisky  a-fiowin' 
round  this  camp,  ye'll  stop  some  of  these  lads  that's 
a-follov/in'  mc  'ard.  Yes,  you !  and  you !  and  you !'  and 
his  voice  rose  to  a  wiUl  ream  as  he  shook  a  trembling 
finger  at  one  and  another. 

"Man.  it's  fair  gruesome  tae  hear  him,"  said  Geordte; 


pi 


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ii:  : 


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88 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


"he's  no'  canny;"  and  reaching  out  for  Billy  as  he  went 
stumbling  past,  he  pulled  him  down  to  a  st  i  beside  him, 
saying,  "Sit  doon,  lad ;  sit  doon.  We'll  mak  a  man  o'  ye 
yet."  Then  he  rose  and,  using  many  r's,  said,  "Maister 
Chairman,  a'  doot  we'll  juist  hae  to  gie  it  up." 

"Give  it  up?"  called  out  Nixon.  "Give  up  the 
League  ?" 

"Na!  na!  lad,  but  juist  the  wee  drap  whusky.  It's  nae 
that  guid  onyway,  and  it's  a  terrible  price.  Man,  gin  yc 
gang  tae  Henderson's  in  Buchanan  street,  in  Gleska,  }e 
ken,  ye'll  get  mair  for  three-an'-saxpence  than  ye  wull  at 
Slavin's  for  five  dollars.  An'  it'll  no'  pit  ye  mad  like  yon 
stuff,  but  it  gangs  doon  smooth  an'  saft-like.  But  (re- 
gretfully) yeMl  no'  can  get  i*^  here;  an'  a'm  thinkin'  a'll 
juist  sign  yon  teetotal  thing."  And  up  he  strode  to  the 
table  and  put  his  name  down  in  the  book  Craig  had  ready. 
Then  to  Billy  he  said,  "Come  awa,  lad !  pit  yer  name  doon, 
an'  we'll  stan'  by  ye." 

Poor  Billy  looked  around  helplessly,  his  nerve  all  gone, 
and  sat  still.  There  was  a  swift  rustle  of  garments,  and 
Mrs.  Mavor  was  beside  him,  and,  in  a  voice  that  only  Billy 
and  I  could  hear,  said,  "You  sign  with  me,  Billy?" 

Billy  gazed  at  her  with  hopeless  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
shook  his  little  head.  She  leaned  slightly  toward  him, 
smiling  brightly,  and,  touching  his  arm  gently,  said : 

"Come,  Billy,  there's  no  fear,"  and  in  a  lower  voice, 
"God  will  help  you." 

As  Billy  went  up,  following  Mrs.  Mavor  close,  a  hush 


The  Making  of  the  League. 


89 


!t!i  on  the  men  until  he  had  put  liis  name  to  the  pledge; 
•i  ^!i  they  came  up,  man  by  man,  and  signed.    But  Craig 
sat  with  his  head  down  and  h.eld  it  fast,  saying  over  and 
>.ser,  under  his  breath.  "Thank  God— thank  God!" 
And  so  the  League  was  made. 


I 


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I 

w 


CHAPtER  VI. 

BLACK   ROCK   RKI.KIION. 

When  T  grow  weary  with  the  conventions  of  religion, 
and  sick  in  my  soul  from  feeding  upon  husks,  that  the 
churches  too  often  offer  me,  in  the  shape  of  elaborate  ser- 
vice and  eloquent  discourses,  so  that  in  my  sickness  I 
doubt  and  doubt,  then  I  go  back  to  the  communion  in 
Black  Rock  and  the  days  preceding  it,  and  the  fever  and 
the  weariness  leave  me,  and  I  grow  humble  and  strong. 
The  simplicity  and  rugged  grandeur  of  the  faith,  the 
humble  gratitude  of  the  rough  men  I  see  about  the  table, 
and  the  calm  radiance  of  one  saintly  face,  rest  and  re- 
call me. 

Not  its  most  enthusiastic  apologist  would  call  Black 
Rock  a  religious  community,  but  it  possessed  in  a  marked 
degree  that  eminent  Christian  virtue  of  tolerance.  All 
creeds,  all  shades  of  religious  opinion,  were  allowed,  and 
it  was  generally  conceded  that  one  was  as  good  as  another. 
It  is  fair  to  say,  however,  that  Black  Rock's  catholicity 
was  negative  rather  than  positive.  The  only  religion  ob- 
jectionable was  that  insisted  upon  as  a  necessity.  It  never 
occurred  to  any  one  to  consider  religion  other  than  as  a 
respectable,  if  not  ornamental,  addition  to  life  in  older 
lands. 

During  the  weeks  following  the  making  of  the  League, 


1 
1 


IT 

1 


Black  Rock  Religion. 


91 


however,  this  negative  attitude  toward  things  religious 
gave  place  to  one  of  keen  investigation  and  criticism. 
The  indifference  passed  away,  and  with  it,  in  a  large 
measure,  the  tolerance.  Mr.  Craig  was  responsible  for 
the  former  of  these  changes,  hut  hardly,  in  fairness,  could 
he  be  held  responsible  for  the  latter.  If  any  one,  more 
than  another,  was  to  be  blamed  for  the  rise  of  intolerance 
in  the  village,  that  man  was  Geordie  Crawford.  He  had 
his  "lines"  from  the  F.stablished  Kirk  of  Scotland,  and 
when  Mr.  Craig  announced  his  intention  of  having  the 
Sacrament  of  the  lord's  Supper  observed,  Geordie  pro- 
duced his  "lines"  and  promptly  handed  iheni  in.  As  no 
other  man  in  the  village  was  equipped  with  like  spiritual 
credentials,  Geordie  constituted  himself  a  kind  of  kirk- 
session,  charged  with  the  double  duty  of  guarding  the 
entrance  to  the  Lord's  Table,  and  of  keeping  an  eye  upon 
the  theological  opinions  of  the  community,  and  more  par- 
ticularly upon  such  members  of  it  as  gave  evidence  of 
possessing  any  opinions  definite  enough  for  statement. 

It  came  to  be  Mr.  Craig's  habit  to  drop  into  the  League- 
room,  and  toward  the  close  of  the  evening  to  have  a  short 
Scripture  lesson  from  the  Gospels.  Gcordie's  opportunity 
came  after  the  meeting  was  over  and  Mr.  Craig  had  gone 
away.  The  men  would  hang  about  and  talk  the  lesson 
over,  expressing  opinions  favorable  or  unfavorable  as  ap- 
peared to  them  good.  Then  it  was  that  all  sorts  of  views, 
religious  and  otherwise,  were  aired  and  examined.  The 
originality  of  the  ideas,  the  absolute  disregard  of  the  au- 
thority of  church  or  creed,  the  frankness  with  which  opin- 


tjti^^fc 


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92 


Black  Rock  Religion, 


IN 


11 


K  f 


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mi 


ions  were  stated,  and  the  forcefulness  of  tlie  language  in 
which  they  were  expressed,  combined  to  make  the  dis- 
cussions altogether  marvelous.  The  passage  between  Abe 
Baker,  the  stage-driver,  and  Geordie  was  particularly 
rich.  It  followed  upon  a  very  telling  lesson  on  the  parable 
of  the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican. 

The  chief  actors  in  that  wonderful  story  were  trans- 
ferred to  the  Black  Rock  stage,  and  were  presented  in 
miner's  costume.  Abe  was  particularly  well  pleased  with 
the  scoring  of  the  ''blanked  old  rooster  who  crowed  so 
blanked  high,"  and  somewhat  incensed  at  the  quiet  re- 
mark interjected  by  Geordie,  "that  it  was  nae  credit  till  a 
man  tae  be  a  sinner ;"  and  when  Geordie  went  on  to  urge 
the  miportance  of  right  conduct  and  respectability,  Abe 
was  led  to  pour  forth  vials  of  contemptuous  wrath  upon 
the  Pharisees  and  hypocrites  who  thought  themselves 
better  than  other  people.  But  Geordie  was  quite  un- 
ruffled, and  lamented  the  ignorance  of  men  who,  brought 
up  in  "Epeescopawlyun  or  Methody"  churches,  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  detect  the  Antinomian  or  Armin- 
ian  heresies. 

"Aunty  Nomyun  or  Uncle  Nomyun,"  replied  Abe,  boil- 
ing hot,  "my  mother  was  a  Methodist,  and  I'll  back  any 
blanked  Methodist  against  any  blankety  blank  long-faced 
lantern-jawed,  skinflint  Presbyterian,"  and  this  he  was 
eager  to  maintain  to  any  man's  satisfaction  if  he  would 
step  outside. 

Geordie  was  quite  unmoved,  but  hastened  to  assure  Abe 
that  he  meant  no  disrespect  to  his  mother,  Vvho  he  had 


Black  Rock  Religion. 


93 


' 


"nae  doot  was  a  clever  enough  biirldie,  tae  jiiHge  by  hei 
son."  Abe  was  speedily  appeased,  and  oflferrd  to  set  up 
ibe  drinks  all  round.  But  Gcordie,  with  evident  reluct- 
ance, had  to  decline,  saying,  "Na.  na,  lad,  T'm  a  League 
man,  ye  ken,"  and  I  was  sure  that  Geordic  at  that  moinent 
felt  that  membership  in  the  League  had  its  drawbacks. 

Nor  was  Geordie  too  sure  of  Craig's  orthodoxy ;  while 
as  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  whose  slave  he  was,  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  lamenting  her  doctrinal  condition : 

"She's  a  fine  wumman,  nae  doot ;  but  puir  cratur,  she's 
fair  carried  awa  wi'  the  errors  o'  tliae  Epeescopawlyuns." 

It  fell  to  Geordic,  therefore,  as  a  sacred  duty,  in  view 
of  the  laxitv  of  those  who  seemed  to  be  the  pillars  of  the 
church,  to  be  all  the  more  watchful  and  unyielding.  But 
he  was  delightfully  inconsistent  when  confronted  with 
the  particulars.  In  conversation  with  him  one  night  after 
one  of  the  meetings,  when  he  had  been  specially  hard  upon 
the  ignorant  and  godless,  I  innocently  changed  the  sub- 
ject to  Billy  Breen,  whom  Geordie  had  taken  to  his  shack 
since  the  night  of  the  League.  He  was  very  proud  of 
Billy's  success  in  the  fight  against  whisky,  the  credit  of 
which  he  divided  unevenly  between  Mrs.  Mavor  and  him- 
self. 

"He's  fair  daft  aboot  her,"  he  explained  to  me,  "an'  I'll 
no'  deny  but  she's  a  great  help,  ay,  a  verra  conseederab'? 
asseestance;  but,  man,  she  doesna  ken  the  whusky,  an' 
the  inside  o'  a  man  that's  wantin'  it.  Ay,  puir  buddie, 
she  diz  her  pairt,  an'  when  ye're  a  bit  restless  an'  thrawn 
aifter  yer  day's  wark,  it's  like  a  walk  in  a  bonnic  glen  on 


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Photographic 

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Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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a  simmer  eve,  with  the  birds  liltiu'  aboot,  tae  sit  in  yon 
roomie  and  hear  her  sing;  but  when  the  night  is  on,  an' 
ye  canna  sleep,  but  wauken  wi'  an'  awfu'  thurst  and  wi' 
dreams  o'  cozy  firesides,  and  the  bonnie  sparklin'  glosses, 
as  it  is  wi'  puir  Billy,  ay,  it's  then  ye  need  a  man  wi'  a 
guid  grup  beside  ye." 

"What  do  you  do  then,  Geordie?"  I  asked 

"Oo  ay,  I  juist  gang  for  a  bit  walk  wi*  the  lad,  and 
then  pits  the  kettle  on  an'  niaks  a  cup  o'  tea  or  coffee,  an' 
aff  he  gangs  tae  sleep  like  a  bairn." 

"Poor  Billy,"  I  said,  pityingly,  "there's  no  hope  for 
him  in  the  future,  I  fear." 

"Hoot  awa,  man,"  said  Geordie  quickly.  "Ye  wadna 
keep  oot  a  puir  cratur  frae  creepin'  in,  that's  daein'  his 
best?" 

"But,  Geordie,"  I  remonstrated,  "he  doesn't  know  any- 
thing of  the  doctrines.  I  don't  believe  he  could  give  us 
The  Chief  End  of  Man.' " 

"An'  wha's  tae  blame  for  that?"  said  Geordie,  with 
fine  indignation.  "An'  maybe  you  remember  the  proud 
Ph:^risee  and  the  puir  wumman  that  cam'  creepin'  in  ahint 
the  Maister." 

The  mingled  tenderness  and  indignation  in  Gcordie's 
face  were  beautiful  to  see,  so  I  meekly  answered,  "Well,  I 
hope  Mr.  Craig  won't  be  too  strict  with  the  boys." 

Geordie  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  me,  but  I  kept  my 
face  like  a  summer  morn,  and  he  replied  cautiously : 

"Ay,  he's  no'  that  streect;  but  he  maun  exerceese  dis- 
creemination." 


Black  Rock  Reii>i,iou. 


95 


Gcordie  was  none  the  less  (Irlcrmincd.  however^  that 
Billy  sliould  "come  forrit ;"  but  as  to  the  manager,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  English  Church,  and  some  others 
who  had  been  confirmee  years  ago,  and  had  forgotten 
much  and  denied  more,  he  was  extremely  doubtful,  and 
expressed  himself  in  very  decided  words  to  the  minister: 

"Ye'll  no'  be  askin'  forrit  thae  Epeescopawlyun  bud- 
dies.   They  julst  ken  naething  ava." 

But  Mr.  Craig  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  and  said : 
"  *IHm  that  cometh  unto  Me  1  v;ill  in  no  wise  cast  ont,'  " 
and  Geordie  was  silent,  though  he  continued  doubtful. 

With  all  these  somewhat  fantastic  features,  however, 
there  v/as  no  mistaking  the  earnest  spirit  of  the  men.  The 
meetings  grew  larger  every  night,  and  the  interest  be- 
came different.  The  men  no  longer  simply  shouted,  but 
as  ^Tr.  Craig  would  call  attention  to  the  sentiment  of  the 
hymn,  the  voices  would  attune  themselves  to  the  words. 
Instead  of  encouraging  anything  like  emotional  excite- 
ment, Mr.  Craig  seemed  to  fear  it. 

"These  chaps  are  easily  stirred  up,"  he  would  say,  "and 
I  am  anxious  that  they  should  know  exactly  what  they 
are  doing.    It  is  far  too  serious  a  business  to  trifle  with." 

Although  Graeme  did  not  go  downstairs  to  the  meet- 
ings, he  could  not  but  feel  the  throb  of  the  emotion  beat- 
ing in  the  heart  of  the  communitv.  I  used  to  detail  for 
his  benefit,  and  sometimes  for  his  anuisement,  the  inci- 
dents of  each  night.  But  I  never  felt  quite  easy  in  dwell- 
ing upon  the  humorous  features  in  Mrs.  Mavor's  presence, 
although  Craig  did  not  appear  to  mind.     His  manner 


96 


B^ick  Rock  Religion. 


I'- 
It '!  'r 


d" 


(   t 


II  fl  i 


m' 


with  Graeme  was  perfect.  Openly  aiixious  to  win  him 
'io  his  side,  he  did  not  improve  the  occasion  and  vex  him 
with  exhortation.  He  would  not  take  him  at  a  dipad- 
vantage,  though,  as  I  afterward  found,  this  was  not  his 
sole  reason  for  his  method.  Mrs.  Mavor,  too,  showed  her- 
self in  wise  and  tender  light.  She  might  have  been  his 
sister,  so  frank  was  she  and  so  openly  affectionate,  laugh- 
ing at  ci'iZ  fretfulness  and  soothing  his  weariness. 

Never  were  better  comrades  than  we  four,  and  the 
bright  days  speeding  so  swiftly  on  drew  us  nearer  to  one 
another. 

But  the  bright  days  came  to  an  end ;  for  Graeme,  when 
once  he  was  able  to  go  about,  became  anxious  to  get  back 
to  the  camp.  And  so  the  last  day  came,  a  day  I  remember 
well.    It  was  a  bright,  crisp  winter  day. 

The  air  was  shimmering  in  the  frosty  light.  The  moun- 
tains, with  their  shining  heads  piercing  through  lijj^ht 
clouds  into  that  wonderful  blue  of  the  Western  sky,  and 
their  feet  pushed  into  the  pine  masses,  gazed  down  upon 
Black  Rock  with  calm,  kindly  looks  on  their  old  gray 
faces.  How  one  grows  to  love  them,  steadfast  old  friends ! 
Far  up  among  the  pines  we  could  see  the  smoke  of  the 
engine  at  the  works,  and  so  still  and  so  clear  was  the 
mountain  air  that  we  could  hear  the  puff  of  the  steam, 
and  from  far  down  the  river  the  murmur  of  the  rapids. 
The  majestic  silence,  the  tender  beauty,  the  peace,  the 
loneliness,  too,  camo  stealing  in  upon  us,  as  we  three,  leav- 
ing Mrs.  Mavor  behind  us,  marched  arm-in-arm  down 
the  street.     We  had  not  gone  far  on  our  way,  when 


i 


w 


!  i'l 


Black  Rock  Religion. 


97 


f 


Ofietne,  turning  round,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  back, 
tlien  waved  his  hand  in  farewell.  Mrs.  Mavor  was  at  her 
window,  smiling  and  waving  in  return.  They  had  grown 
to  be  great  friends  these  two ;  and  seemed  to  have  arrived 
at  some  understanding.  Certainly,  Graeme's  manner  to 
her  was  not  that  he  bore  to  other  women.  His  half- 
quizzical,  somewhat  superior  air  of  mocking  devotion 
gave  place  to  a  simple,  earnest,  almost  tender,  respect, 
very  new  to  hirr^  but  very  winning. 

As  he  stood  there  waving  his  farewell,  I  glanced  at  his 
face  and  saw  for  a  moment  what  I  had  not  seen  for  years, 
a  faint  flush  on  Graeme's  cheek  and  a  light  of  simple, 
earnest  faith  in  his  eyes.  It  reminded  me  of  my  first  look 
of  him  when  he  had  come  up  for  his  matriculation  to  the 
'Varsity.  He  stood  on  the  campus  looking  up  at  the  noble 
old  pile,  and  there  was  the  same  bright,  trustful,  earnest 
look  on  his  boyish  face. 

I  know  not  what  spirit  possessed  me ;  it  may  have  been 
tl:e  pain  of  the  memory  working  in  me,  but  I  said,  coarsely 
inough,  "It's  no  use,  Graeme,  rrv  boy;  I  would  fall  in 
'  '.  e  with  her  myself,  but  there  would  be  no  chance  even 
j'.)r  nie." 

The  flush  slowly  darkened  as  he  turned  and  said  de- 
liberately : 

"It's  not  like  you,  Connor,  to  be  an  ass  of  that  peculiar 
kind.  Love! — not  exactly!  She  won't  fall  in  love  un- 
less  "  and  he  stopped  abruptly,  with  his  eyes  upon 

Craig. 

Btrt  r!r«»o-  "ne^  h'**»,  'v»*h  ♦I'lshaking  gaze,  quietly  re 


m- 


); 


Si.-;" 


\V 


H  ^1 


f'^'h 


98 


Black  Rock  Religiou. 


marking,  "Her  heart  is  under  the  pliic*;"  and  we  moved 
on,  each  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  and  guessing  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  others. 

We  were  on  our  way  to  Craig's  shack,  and  as  we 
passed  the  saloon  Slavin  stepped  from  the  door  with  ? 
sakitation.  Graeme  paused.  "Hello,  Slavin  1 1  got  rather 
the  worst  of  it,  didn't  I  ?" 

Slavin  came  near,  and  said  earnestly  :  "It  was  a  dirty 
thrick  altogether;  you'll  not  think  it  was  moine,  Mr. 
Graeme." 

"No,  no,  Slavin !  you  stood  up  like  a  man,"  said  Graeme 
cheerfully. 

*'And  you  bate  me  fair;  an'  bedad  it  was  &  nate  one 
that  laid  me  out ;  an*  there's  no  grudge  in  me  heart  till  ye." 

"All  right,  Slavin;  we'll  perhaps  understand  each  other 
better  after  this." 

"An'  that's  thrue  for  yez,  sor;  an*  I'll  see  tfiat  your 
byes  don't  get  any  more  than  they  ask  for,"  replied  ^avin, 
backing  away. 

"And  I  hope  that  vX'on't  be  much,"  put  in  Mr.  Craig; 
but  Slavin  only  grinned. 

When  we  came  to  Craig's  shack  Graeme  was  glad  to 
rest  in  the  big  chair. 

Craig  made  him  a  cup  of  tea,  while  I  smoked,  admir- 
ing much  the  deft  neatness  of  the  minister's  housekeep- 
ing, and  the  gentle,  almost  motherly,  way  he  had  with 
Graeme. 

In  our  talk  we  ddf^Mnto  the  future,  and  Craig  let 
«6  see  what  were  his  ambitions.    The  railway  was  soon 


It 


I 


IB  r 


Black  Rock  Religion. 


99 


to  come;  the  resources  were,  n".  vet,  unexplored,  bvit 
enough  was  knowti  to  assure  a  great  future  for  British 
Columbia  As  he  talked  his  enthusiasm  grew,  and  carried 
US  away.  With  the  eye  of  a  g^jneral  he  surveyed  the 
country,  fixed  the  strategic  points  which  the  Churcii  must 
seize  upon.  Eight  good  men  could  hold  the  country  from 
Fort  Steele  to  the  coast,  and  from  Kootenay  to  Cariboo. 

'The  Church  nmst  be  in  with  the  railway;  she  must 
have  a  hand  in  the  sliaping  of  the  country.  If  society 
crystallizes  without  her  influence,  the  country  is  lost,  and 
British  Columbia  will  be  another  trapdoor  to  the  bottom- 
less pit/' 

"What  do  you  propose?"  I  asked. 

"Organizing  a  little  congregation  here  in  Black  Rock." 

"How  many  will  you  get?" 

"Don't  know." 

"Pretty  hopeless  business,"  I  said. 

"Hopeless?  hopeless!"  he  cried;  "there  were  only 
twelve  of  us  at  first  to  follow  Him,  and  rather  a  poor  lot 
they  were.  But  He  braced  them  up,  and  they  conquered 
the  world." 

"But  surely  things  are  different,"  said  Graeme. 

"Things?  Yes!  yes!  But  He  is  the  same."  Hio 
face  had  an  exalted  look,  and  his  eyes  were  gazing  into 
far-away  places. 

"A  dozen  men  in  Black  Rock  with  some  real  grip  of 
Him  would  make  thinrs  eo.  We'll  get  Vhern,  too,'*  he 
went  on  m  growing  excitement.  ''I  believe  in  my  soul 
we'll  «ct  them.** 


TOO 


Black  Rock  RciigitJ!. 


,M! 


<  <  fi 


fi'' 


**Look  here,  Craig;  if  you  organize  I'd  like  to  join," 
.»i3id  Graeme  impulsively.  "I  don't  believe  much  in  youi 
creed  or  your  Church,  but  I'll  be  blovved  if  I  don't  believe 
m  vou." 

Craig  looked  at  him  with  wistful  eyes,  and  shook  his 
head.  "It  won't  do,  old  chap,  you  know.  I  can't  hold 
vou.  You've  got  to  have  a  grip  of  some  one  better  than 
I  am ;  and  then,  besides,  I  hardly  like  asking  you  now ;'' 
he  hesitated — "well,  to  be  out-and-out,  this  step  must  be 
takeninot  for  my  sake,  nor  for  any  man's  sake,  and  I  fancy 
that  perhaps  you  feel  like  pleasing  me  just  now  a  little." 

"That  I  do,  old  fellow,"  said  Graeme,  putting  out  his 
hand.    "I'll  be  hanged  if  I  won't  do  anything  you  say." 

"That's  why  I  won't  say,"  replied  Craig.  Then  rever- 
ently he  added,  "The  organization  is  not  mine.  It  is  my 
Master's." 

"When  are  you  going  to  begin?"  asked  Graeme. 

"We  shall  have  our  communion  service  in  two  weeks* 
and  that  will  be  our  roll-call." 

"How  many  will  answer?"  I  asked,  doubtfully. 

"I  know  of  three,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Three !    There  are  two  hundred  miners  and  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  lumbermen !    Three !"  and  Graeme  looked 
at  him  in  amazement.    "You  think  it  worth  while  to  or- 
ganize three?" 

"Well,"  replied  Craig,  smiling  for  the  first  time,  "the 
organization  won't  be  elaborate,  but  it  will  be  eflfective, 
and,  besides,  loyalty  demands  obedience." 

We  sat  long  that  afternoon  talking,  shrinking  from  the 


Black  Rock  Religion. 


lOX 


I,  "the 
pctive, 

m  the 


breaking  up;  for  we  knew  that  we  were  about  to  turn 
down  a  chapter  in  our  lives  which  we  should  delight  to 
linger  over  in  after  days.  And  in  my  life  there  is  but 
one  brighter.  At  last  we  said  good-by  and  drove  away, 
and  though  many  farewells  have  come  in  between  that 
day  and  this,  none  is  so  vividly  present  to  me  as  that  be- 
tween us  three  men.  Craig's  manner  with  me  was  scrfemn 
enough.  "  'He  that  loveth  his  life;'  good-by,  don't  fool 
with  this,"  was  what  he  said  to  me.  But  when  he  turned 
to  Graeme  his  whole  face  lit  up.  He  took  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  gave  him  a  little  shake,  looking  into  his 
eyes,  and  saying  over  and  over  in  a  low,  sweet  tone : 

"You'll  come,  old  chap,  you'll  come,  you'll  come.  Tell 
me  you'll  come." 

And  Graeme  could  say  nothing  in  reply,  but  only  looked 
at  him.  Then  they  silently  shook  hands,  and  we  drove 
oflf.  But  long  after  we  had  got  over  the  mountain  and 
into  the  winding  forest  road  on  the  way  to  the  lumber- 
camp  the  voice  kept  vibrating  in  my  heart,  "You'll  come, 
you'll  come,"  and  there  was  a  hot  pain  in  my  throat. 

We  said  little  during  the  drive  to  the  camp.  Graeme 
W2is  thinking  hard,  and  made  no  answer  when  I  spoke 
to  him  two  or  three  times,  till  we  came  to  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  pme  forest,  when,  with  a  little  shiver,  he  said : 

"It  is  all  a  tangle — a  hopeless  tangle." 

"Meaning  what?"  I  asked. 

"This  business  of  religion — what  quaint  varieties — 
Nelsons's,  Geordie's,  Billy  Breen's— ^if  he  has  any — then 
Mrs.  Mavor's — she  is  a  saint,  of  course — and  that  fellow 


1  ! 


I03 


1 

If 

tllp 

Black  Rock  Religion. 


Craig's.  Wlinf  a  tnnnp  lie  i.ql—ainl  wllluuit  liis  religion 
lif'/i  It  i-^:*^v  much  like  the  rest  of  us.  It  is  loo  much 
for  ni^." 

His  mystery  \vn>  not  mine.  The  P.lack  Rock  varieties 
of  rclii;ion  were  certainly  startling-;  hnf  (here  was  mi- 
uouhtcdly  the  streak  uf  reality  throni;h  llicm  all,  ami  that 
(l.'scovery  I  felt  to  he  a  distinct  gain. 


i 


ii,,. 


V 


l-%i  ' 


•i 


i"  ■ 


nuch 


dies 

nil 

tliat 


r 


CHAPTER   VI i. 

THE   FIRST    ULACK    ROCK    COMM  (fN  lOM. 

The  gleam  of  the  ^rcat  fiic  flinnigli  tlic  windows  of  the 
/^^rcat  camp  f^;i\v  a  kindly  welcome  as  we  drove  into  the 
clearing  in  which  the  shanties  stood.  Graeme  was  greatly 
tonched  at  his  enlhnsiastic  welcome  hy  the  men.  At  the 
snpi)er-lahle  he  made  a  little  speech  of  thanks  for  their 
faithfulness  dm-ing  his  ahsence,  specially  commending  the 
care  and  efficiency  of  Mr.  Nelson,  who  had  had  charge 
•>f  the  camj).  The  men  cheered  wildly,  Raptiste's  shrill 
•  Dice  leading  all.  Nelson  being  called  npon,  ex])rc-.scd  in 
a  few  words  his  pleasure  at  seeing  the  boss  ha  V,  and 
thanked  the  men  for  their  support  while  he  had  been  in 
charge. 

The  men  were  for  making  a  night  of  it ;  but  tearing 
the  effect  upon  Graeme,  I  spoke  to  Nelson,  who  passed 
the  word,  and  in  a  short  time  the  camp  was  quiet.  As  we 
sauntered  from  the  grub-camp  to  the  office  where  was 
our  bed,  we  paused  to  take  in  the  beauty  of  the  night. 
The  moon  rode  high  over  the  peaks  of  the  mountains, 
flooding  the  narrow  valley  with  mellow  light.  Under  her 
magic  the  rtigged  peaks  softened  their  harsh  lines  and 
seemed  to  lean  lovingly  toward  us.  The  dark  pine  masses 
stood  silent  as  in  breathless  adoration ;  the  dazzling  snow 
lay  like  a  garment  over  all  the  open  spaces  in  soft  waving 


IP" 


i  ) 


104     Tlie  First  Black  Rock  Communion. 


M 


!  1 


•I  ■ 
1  ■»  . 


f 


u 


If!"-- 


;«i 


folds,  and  crowned  every  stump  with  a  quaintly  shapcr' 
nightcap.  Above  the  camps  tlio  suKjke  curled  up  from 
the  camp-fires,  standing  Hke  pillars  of  cloud  that  kept 
watch  while  men  slept.  And  high  over  all  the  deep  blue 
night  sky,  with  its  star  jewels,  sprang  like  the  roof  of  a 
great  cathedral  from  range  to  range,  covering  us  in  its 
kindly  shelter.  How  homelik'-  and  safe  seemed  the  valley 
with  its  mountain-sides,  its  sentinel  trees  and  arching  roof 
of  jeweled  sky!  Even  the  night  seemed  kindly,  and 
friendly  the  stars ;  and  the  lone  cry  of  the  wolf  from  the 
deep  forest  seemed  like  the  voice  of  a  comrade. 

"How  beautiful  I  Too  beautiful !"  said  Graeme,  stretch- 
ing out  his  arms.  "A  night  like  this  takes  the  heart  out 
of  me." 

I  stood  silent,  drinking  in  at  every  sense  the  night  with 
its  wealth  of  loveliness. 

"What  is  it  I  want?"  he  went  on.  "Why  does  the 
night  make  my  heart  ache?  There  are  things  to  see  and 
things  to  hear  just  beyond  me;  I  cannot  get  to  them." 
The  gay,  careless  look  was  gone  from  his  face,  his  dark- 
eyes  were  wistful  with  yearning. 

"I  often  wonder  if  life  has  nothing  better  for  me,"  he 
continued  with  his  heart-ache  voice. 

I  said  no  word,  but  put  my  arm  within  his.  A  light 
appeared  in  the  stable.  Glad  of  a  diversion,  I  said :  "What 
is  the  light?    Ltt  us  go  and  see." 

"Sandy,  taking;  a  last  look  at  his  team,  like  enough." 

We  walked  slowly  toward  the  stable,  speaking  no  word. 
As  we  neared  the  door  we  heard  the  sound  of  a  voice  in 


The  1^'irst  Rlack  R.ock  Commuuiou.     105 


n 


» 


the  monotoiic  of  one  reading.  1  stepped  forward  an  1 
r'ooked  throuj^di  a  chink  l)ctween  tlie  logs,  (iraeme  was 
dboiit  to  open  the  door,  but  I  held  up  my  hand  and 
beckoned  Iiini  to  me.  In  a  vacant  stall,  where  was  a  pile 
of  straw,  a  number  of  men  were  ^n()Ui)e(l.  .Sandy,  lean- 
ing against  the  tying-post  n\Km  which  the  stable-lantern 
hung,  was  reading;  Nelson  was  kneeling  in  front  of 
him  and  gazing  into  the  gloom  beyond;  IJaptiste  lay 
upon  his  stomach,  his  chin  in  his  hands  and  his  upturned 
eyes  fastened  upon  Sandy's  face;  Lachlan  Campbell  sat 
with  his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees,  and  two  other 
men  sat  near  him.  Sandy  was  reading  tiie  undying  story 
of  tlie  prodigal,  Nelson  now  and  then  slopping  him  to 
make  a  remark.  It  was  a  scene  I  have  never  been  able 
to  forget.  To-day  I  pause  in  my  tale,  and  see  it  as  clearly 
as  when  I  looked  through  the  chink  upon  it  years  ago. 
The  long,  low  stable,  with  log  walls  and  upright  hitching- 
poles ;  the  dim  outlines  of  the  horses  in  the  gloom  of  the 
background,  and  the  little  group  of  rough,  almost  savage- 
looking  men,  with  faces  wondering  and  reverent,  lit  by  the 
misty  light  of  the  stable-lantern. 

After  the  reading,  Sandy  handed  the  book  to  Nelson, 
who  put  it  in  his  pocket,  saying,  'That's  for  us,  boys, 
ain't  it?" 

"Ay,"  said  Lachlan ;  "it  is  often  that  has  been  read  in 
my  hearing,  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  for  me  what- 
ever," and  he  swayed  himself  slightly  as  he  spoke,  and 
his  voice  was  full  of  pain. 


i- 


io6    The  First  Black  Rock  Communion. 


ill 


M 


If  I' 

m 

i 

I'll ; 

B  "    '' 

ri- 
ll' 


*■'.■■ 


n^^ 


n 


ft* 

"I 


if(i>; 


[i§  * 


"The  minister  said  I  might  come,"  said  old  Nelson, 
earnestly  and  hopefully. 

"Ay,  but  you  are  not  Lachlan  Campbell,  and  you  hef  not 
had  his  privileges.  My  father  was  a  godly  elder  in  the 
Free  Church  of  Scotland,  and  never  a  night  or  morning 
but  we  took  the  Books." 

"Yes,  but  He  said  'any  man,' "  persisted  Nelson,  put- 
ting his  hand  on  Lachlan's  knee.  But  Lachlan  shook  his 
head. 

"Dat  young  feller,"  said  Baptiste,  "wha's  hees  nem, 
heh  ?" 

"He  has  no  name.    It  is  just  parable,"  explained  Sandy. 

"He's  got  no  nem?  He's  just  a  parom'ble?  Das  no 
young  feller?"  asked  Baptiste,  anxiously.  "Das  mean 
not'ing?" 

Then  Is^elson  took  him  in  hand  and  explained  to  him 
the  meaning,  while  Baptiste  listened  even  more  eagerly, 
ejaculating  softly:  "Ah,  voila!  Bon,  by  gar!"  When 
Nelson  had  finished,  he  broke  out :  "Dat  young  feller,  his 
name  Baptiste,  heh?  And  de  old  Fadder,  he's  le  bon 
Dieu?  Bon,  das  good  story  for  me!  How  you  go  back ? 
You  go  to  de  pries'  ?" 

"The  book  doesn't  say  priest  or  any  one  else,"  said 
Nelson.    "You  go  back  in  yourself,  you  see?'* 

"Non;  das  so,  sure  nuff.  Ah" — as  if  a  light  broke  in 
upon  him — "you  go  in  your  own  self!  You  make  one 
leetle  prayer.  You  say:  "Le  bon  Fadder,  oh,  I  want 
come  back !    I  so  tire,  so  hongree,  so  sorree !'    He  say : 


f 


\ 


F 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion.     107 

'Come  right  'long.'    Ah,  das  fuss-rate !    Nelson,  you  make 
one  leetle  prayer  for  Sandy  and  me." 

And  Nelson  lifted  up  his  face  and  said ;  "Father,  we're 
all  gone  far  away;  we  have  spent  all,  we  are  poor,  we 
are  tired  of  it  ail;  we  want  to  feel  different,  to  be  dif- 
ferent; we  want  to  come  back.  Jesus  came  to  save  us 
from  our  sins ;  and  He  said  if  we  came  He  wouldn't  cast 
us  out,  no  matter  how  bad  we  were,  if  we  only  came  to 
Him.  Oh,  Jesus  Christ" — and  his  old,  iron  face  began  to 
work,  and  two  big  tears  slowly  came  from  under  hi: 
eyelids — "we  are  a  poor  lot,  and  I'd  the  worst  of  the  lot, 
and  we  are  trying  to  find  the  way.  Show  us  how  to  get 
back.    Amen." 

"Bon !"  sai.l  Baptiste.    "Das  fetch  Him  sure !" 

Graeme  pulled  me  away,  and  without  a  word  we  went 
into  the  office  and  drew  up  to  the  little  stove.  Graeme  was 
greatly  moved. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that?"  he  asked.  "Old 
Nelson — the  liaMest,  savagest,  toughest  old  sinner  in  the 
camp — on  his  knees  before  a  lot  of  men !" 

"Before  God,"  I  could  not  help  saying,  for  the  thing 
seemed  very  real  to  me.  The  old  man  evidently  felt  him- 
self talking  to  some  one. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you're  right,"  said  Graeme,  doubtfully ; 
"but  there's  a  lot  of  staff  I  can't  swallow." 

"When  you  take  medicine  you  don't  swallow  the  bot- 
tle," I  replied,  for  his  trouble  was  not  mine. 

"If  I  were  sure  of  the  medicine,  I  wouldn't  mind  the 
bottle,  and  yet  it  acts  well  enough,"  he  went  on.    "I  don't 


'it 

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io8    The  First  Black  Rock  Communion. 

mind  Lachlan;  he's  a  Highland  mystic,  and  has  visions, 
and  Sandy's  almost  as  bad,  and  Baptiste  is  an  impulsive 
little  chap.  Those  don't  count  much.  But  old  man  Nel- 
son is  a  cool-blooded,  level-headed  old  fellow ;  has  seen  a 
iot  of  life,  too.  And  then  there's  Craig.  He  has  a  better 
head  than  I  have,  and  is  as  hot-blooded,  and  yet  he  is 
living  and  slaving  away  in  that  hole,  and  really  enjoys  it. 
There  must  be  something  in  it." 

"Oh,  look  here,  Graeme!"  I  burst  out,  impatiently. 
"What's  the  use  of  your  talking  like  that?  Of  course 
there's  something  in  it.  There's  everything  in  it.  The 
trouble  with  me  is,  I  can't  face  the  music.  It  calls  for  a 
life  where  a  fellow  must  go  in  for  straight,  steady  work, 
self-denial  and  that  sort  of  thing;  and  I'm  too  Bohemian 
tor  that,  and  too  lazy.  But  that  fellow  Craig  makes  one 
feel  horribly  uncomfortable." 

Graeme  put  his  head  on  one  side,  and  examined  me 
curiously. 

"I  believe  you're  right  about  yourself.  You  always 
were  a  luxurious  beggar.  But  that's  not  where  it  catches 
me." 

We  sat  and  smoked  and  talked  of  other  things  for  an 
hour,  and  then  turned  in.  As  I  was  dropping  off,  I  was 
roused  by  Graeme's  voice: 

"Are  you  going  to  the  preparatory  service  on  Friday 
night?" 

"Don't  know,"  I  replied,  rather  sleepily. 

"I  say,  do  yr  i  remember  the  preparatory  service  a1 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion.     109 

home?"  There  was  something  in  his  voice  that  set  me 
wide  awake. 

"Yes.  Rather  terrific,  wasn't  it?  But  I  always  felt 
better  after  it,"  1  replied. 

"To  me" — he  was  sitting  up  in  bed  now — "to  me  it 
'A'as  like  a  call  to  arms,  or  rather  like  a  call  for  a  forlorn 
hope.  None  but  volunteers  wanted.  Do  you  remember 
the  thrill  in  the  old  governor's  voice  as  he  dared  any  but 
the  right  stuff  to  come  on?" 

"We'll  go  in  on  Friday  night,"  I  said. 

And  so  we  did.  Sandy  took  a  load  of  men  with  his 
team,  and  Graeme  and  I  arove  in  the  light  sleigh. 

The  meeting  was  in  the  church,  and  over  a  hundred 
men  were  present.  There  was  some  -inging  of  familiar 
hymns  at  first,  and  then  Mr.  Craig  read  the  same  story 
as  we  had  heard  in  tht  stable,  that  most  perfect  of  all  par- 
ables, the  Prodigal  Son.  Baptiste  nudged  Sandy  in  de- 
light, and  whispered  something,  but  Sandy  held  his  face 
so  absolutely  expressionless  that  Graeme  was  moved  to 
say: 

"Look  at  Sandy!  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  graven 
image  ?    Something  has  hit  him  hard." 

The  men  were  held  fast  by  the  story.  The  voice  of  the 
reader — low,  earnest  and  thrilling  with  the  tender  pathos 
of  the  tale — carried  the  words  to  our  hearts,  while  a 
glance,  a  gesture,  a  movement  of  the  body  gave  us  the 
vision  of  it  all  as  he  was  seeing  it. 

Then,  In  simplest  words,  he  told  us  what  the  story 
meant,  holding  us  the  while  with  eyes,  and  voice,  and 


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PI. 


no    The  First  Black  Rock  Communion, 

gesture.  He  compelled  us  to  scorn  the  gay,  heartless  seli- 
ishness  of  the  young  fool  setting  forth  so  jauntily  from 
the  broken  home;  he  moved  our  pity  and  our  sympathy 
for  the  young  profligate,  who,  broken  and  deserted,  had 
still  pluck  enough  to  determine  to  work  his  way  back,  and 
who,  in  utter  desperation,  at  last  gave  it  up ;  and  then  he 
showed  us  the  home-coming — the  ragged,  heart-sick 
tramp,  with  hesitating  steps,  stumbling  along  the  dusty 
road,  and  then  the  rush  of  the  old  father,  his  garments 
fluttering,  and  his  voice  heard  in  broken  cries.  I  see  and 
hear  it  all  now,  whenever  the  words  are  read. 

He  announced  <he  hymn  "J^st  as  I  Am,"  read  the  first 
verse,  and  then  went  on :  "There  you  are,  men,  every  man 
of  you,  somewhere  on  the  road.  Some  of  you  are  too 
lazy" — here  Graeme  nudged  me — "and  some  of  you 
liaven't  got  enough  yet  of  the  far  country  to  come  back. 
May  there  be  a  chance  for  you  when  you  want  to  come ! 
Men,  you  all  want  to  go  back  home,  and  when  you  go 
you'll  want  to  put  on  your  soft  clothes,  and  you  won't 
go  till  you  can  go  in  good  style ;  but  where  did  the  prodi- 
gal get  his  good  clothes?"  Quick  came  the  answer  in 
Baptiste's  shrill  voice: 

"From  de  old  fadder!" 

No  one  was  surprised,  and  the  minister  went  on : 

"Yes !  And  that's  where  we  must  get  the  good,  clean 
heart — the  good,  clean,  brave  heart — from  our  Father! 
Don't  wait,  but,  just  as  you  are,  come !    Sing." 

They  sang,  not  lord,  as  the»'  would  "Stand  Up/'  or 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion,    iii 


even  "The  Sweet  By  and  By,"  but  in  voices  subdued, 
holding  down  the  power  in  them. 

After  the  singing,  Craig  stood  a  moment  gazing  down 
at  the  men,  and  then  said,  quietly : 

"Any  man  want  to  come?  You  all  might  come.  We 
all  must  come."  Then,  sweeping  his  arm  over  the  audi- 
ence and  turning  half  round,  as  if  to  move  off,  he  ciicd, 
in  a  voice  that  thrilled  to  the  heart's  core: 

"Oh,  come  on !    Let's  go  back !" 

The  effect  was  overpowering.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  whole  company  half  rose  to  their  feet.  Of  the  prayer 
that  immediately  followed,  I  only  caught  the  opening 
sentence,  "Father,  we  are  coming  back,"  for  my  attention 
was  suddenly  absorbed  by  Abe,  the  stage-driver,  who  was 
sitting  next  me.  I  could  hear  him  swearing  approval  and 
admiration,  saying  to  himself : 

"Ain't  he  a  clinker !  I'll  be  gee-whizzly-goldusted  if  he 
ain't  a  malleable-iron  double-back-action  self-adjusting 
corn-cracker."  And  the  prayer  continued  to  be  punctu- 
ated with  like  admiring  and  even  more  sulphurous  exple- 
tives. It  was  an  incongruous  medley.  The  earnest,  rev- 
erent rrayer.  and  the  earnest,  admiring  profanity,  ren- 
dered chaotic  one's  ideas  of  religious  propriety.  The  feel- 
ings in  Doth  were  akin ;  the  method  of  expression  some- 
what widely  diverse. 

After  prayer,  Craig's  tone  changed  itterly.  In  a  quiet, 
matter-of-fact,  business-like  way  he  stated  his  plan  of  or- 
ganization, and  called  for  all  who  wished  to  join  to 
remain  after  the  benediction.    Some  fifty  men  were  left, 


112    The  First  Black  Rock  Communion. 


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among  them  Nelson,  Sandy,  Lachlan  Campbell,  Baptiste 
Shaw,  Nixon,  Geordic  and  Billy  Breen,  who  tried  to  get 
out,  but  was  held  fast  by  Geordie. 

Graeme  was  passing  out,  but  I  signed  him  to  remain, 
saying  that  I  wished  "to  see  the  thing  out."  Abe  sat 
5till  beside  me,  swearing  disgitstedly  at  the  fellows  "who 
were  going  back  on  the  preacher."  Craig  appeared 
amazed  at  the  number  oi  men  remaining,  and  seemed  to 
fear  that  something  was  wrong.  He  put  before  them  the 
terms  of  discipleship,  as  the  Master  put  them  to  the  eager 
scribe,  and  he  did  not  make  them  easy.  He  pictured  the 
kind  of  work  to  be  done,  and  the  kind  of  men  needed  for 
the  doing  of  it.  Abe  grew  uneasy  as  the  minister  went  on 
to  describe  the  completeness  of  the  surrender,  the  intensity 
of  the  loyalty  demanded. 

"That  knocks  me  out,  I  reckon,"  he  muttered,  in  a  dis- 
appointed tone ;  "I  ain't  up  to  that  grade."  And  as  Craig 
described  the  heroism  called  for,  the  magnificence  of  the 
fight,  the  worth  of  it,  and  the  outcome  of  it  all,  Abe 
ground  out :  "I'll  be  blanked  if  T  wouldn't  like  to  take  a 
hand,  but  I  guess  I'm  not  in  it."   Craig  finished  by  saying : 

"I  want  to  put  this  quite  fairly.  It  is  not  any  leagtw 
of  mine ;  you're  not  joining  my  company ;  it  is  no  easy 
business,  and  it  is  for  your  whole  life.  What  do  you  say  ? 
Do  I  put  it  fairly?    What  do  you  say.  Nelson?" 

Nelson  rose  slowly,  and  with  difficulty  began: 

"I  may  be  all  wrong,  but  you  made  it  easier  for  me, 
Mr.  Craig.    You  said  He  would  see  me  through,  or  I 


*s 


The  First  Black  Rock  (communion.    113 


should  never  have  risked  it.    Perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  and 
the  old  man  looked  troubled.    Craig  sprang  up. 

"No,  no!  Thank  God — no!  He  will  see  every  man 
through  who  will  trust  his  life  to  Him.  Every  man,  no 
matter  how  tough  he  is,  no  matter  how  broken." 

Then  Nelson  straightened  himself  up  and  said : 

"Well,  sir,  I  believe  a  lot  of  the  men  would  go  in  for 
this  if  they  were  dead  sure  they  would  get  thrcugh." 

"Get  through !"  said  Craig.  "Never  a  fear  of  it.  It  is 
a  hard  fight,  a  long  fight,  a  glorious  fight,"  throwing  up 
his  head,  "but  every  man  who  squarely  trusts  Him,  and 
takes  Him  as  Lord  and  Master,  comes  out  victor !" 

"Bon  I"  said  Raptiste.  "Das  me.  You  tink  He's  take 
me  in  dat  fight,  M'sieu  Craig,  heh?"  His  eyes  were 
blazing. 

"You  mean  it?"  asked  Craig,  almost  sternly. 

"Yes,  by  gar!"  said  the  little  Frenchman,  eagerly. 

"Hear  what  He  says,  then."  And  Craig,  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  his  Testament,  read  solemnly  the  words, 
"Swear  not  at  all." 

"Non!  For  sure!  Deu  T  stop  him,"  replied  Baptiste, 
earnestly,  and  Craig  wrote  his  name  down. 

Poor  Abe  looked  amazed  and  distressed,  rose  slowly, 
and  saying  "That  jars  my  whisky  ju^:?"  d^£^4  rif.. 
There  was  a  slight  movement  near  the  organ,  and  glar- 
ing up  I  saw  Mrs.  Mavor  put  her  face  hastily  in  her 
hands.  The  men's  faces  were  anxivius  and  troubled,  and 
Nelson  said  in  a  voice  that  broke : 

"Tell  them  what  you  told  me,  sir."    But  Craig  was 


114     ^l^c  First  Black  Rock  Comniunicn. 


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ttuubled,  too,  and  replied:  "You  lell  thcin,  Nelson  1"  and 
Nelson  told  the  men  the  story  of  how  he  began  just  five 
weeks  ago.  The  old  man's  voice  steadied  as  he  went  on, 
and  he  grew  eager  as  he  told  how  he  had  been  helped, 
and  how  the  world  was  all  different,  and  his  heart  seemed 
new.  lie  spoke  of  his  Friend  as  if  He  were  some  one 
that  could  he  seen  out  at  camp,  that  he  knew  well,  and 
met  every  day. 

But  as  he  tried  to  say  how  deeply  he  regretted  that 
he  had  not  known  all  this  years  before,  the  old,  hard 
face  began  to  quiver,  and  the  steady  voice  wav?«*ed.  Then 
he  pulled  himself  together,  and  said: 

"I  begin  to  feel  sure  He'll  pull  me  through — me,  the 
hardest  man  in  the  mountains !  So  don't  you  fear,  boys ; 
He's  all  right." 

Then  the  men  gave  in  their  names,  one  by  one.  W!ien 
it  came  to  Geordie's  turn,  he  gave  his  name: 

"George  Crawford,  frae  the  pairish  o'  Kilsyth,  Scot- 
land, an*  yc'll  juist  pit  doon  the  lad's  name,  Maister  Craig; 
he's  a  wee  bit  fashed  wi'  the  discoorse,  but  he  has  the  root 
o*  the  maitter  in  him,  I  doot."  And  so  Billy  Breen's  name 
went  down. 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  thirty-eight  names  stood 
upon  the  communion  roll  of  the  Black  Rock  Presbyterian 
Church;  and  it  will  ever  be  one  of  the  regrets  of  my 
life  that  neither  Graeme's  name  nor  my  own  a{>pe9ired 
on  that  roll.  And  two  4avfi  after,  when  the  cud  w«nt 
round  on  that  first  Communion  Sahhatii,  from  Nelson  to 
Sandy,  Mid  from  Sandy  to  Batiste,  and  so  on  d9wn  th«} 


I 


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The  First  Black  Rock  Comniun 


ion. 


"5 


line  to  Billv  Rrcon  and  Mr:>.  Mj 


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Abe. 


lavor, 
driver,  wlioni  she  had  hy  her  own  mystic  power  h"ftcd  into 
hope  and  faith,  T  felt  all  the  shame  and  pain  of  a  traito  ; 
and  T  heh>ve  in  my  heart  that  the  fire  of  that  pain  and 
siiam'e  burned  something  of  the  selfish  cowardice  out  of 
nic,  and  that  it  is  burning  still. 

The  last  words  of  the  minister,  in  the  short  address 
after  the  table  had  been  served,  were  low,  and  sweet,  and 
tender,  but  they  were  words  of  high  courage;  and  be- 
fore he  had  spoken  them  all,  the  .nen  were  listening  with 
shining  eyes,  and  when  they  rose  to  sing  the  closing 
hymn  they  stood  straight  and  stiff  like  soldiers  on  parade. 

And  I  wished  more  than  ever  I  were  one  of  them. 


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I  :\ 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   BREAKING  OF  THIS   LEAGUE. 

I'lierc  Js  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  nature  designed  me 
for  a  great  painter.  A  railway  director  interfered  with 
that  design  of  Nature,  as  he  has  with  many  another  of 
hers,  and  by  the  transmission  of  an  order  for  mountain 
pieces  by  the  dozen,  together  with  a  check  so  large  that 
1  feared  there  was  some  mistake,  he  determined  me  to  be 
an  illustrator  and  designer  for  railway  and  like  publica- 
tions. I  do  not  like  these  people  ordering  "by  the  dozen." 
Why  should  they  not  consider  an  artist's  finer  feelings? 
Perhaps  they  cannot  understand  them;  but  they  under- 
stand my  pictures,  and  I  understand  their  checks,  and 
ihere  we  are  quits.  But  so  it  came  that  I  remained  in 
Black  Rock  long  enough  to  witness  the  breaking  of  the 
League. 

Looking  back  upon  the  events  of  that  night  from  the 
midst  of  gentle  and  decent  surroundings,  they  now  seem 
strangely  unreal,  but  to  me  then  they  appeared  only 
natural. 

It  was  the  Good  Friday  ball  that  wrecked  the  League. 
For  the  fact  that  the  promoters  of  the  ball  determined 
that  it  should  be  a  ball  rather  than  a  dance  was  taken  by 
the  League  men  as  a  concessicMi  to  the  new  public  opinion 
in  favor  of  respectability  created  by  the  League.     And 


The  Breaking  of  the  League.  117 

when  the  manager's  patronage  had  been  secured  (they 
failed  to  get  Mrs.  Mavor's),  and  it  was  further  announced 
that,  though  held  in  the  Black  Rock  Hotel  ball-room — in- 
deed, there  was  no  other  place — refreshments  suited  to  the 
peculiar  tastes  of  League  men  would  be  provided,  it  was 
felt  to  be  almost  a  necessity  that  tnc  League  should  ap- 
prove, should  indeed  welcome,  this  concession  to  the  pub- 
lic opinion  in  favor  of  respectability  created  by  the 
League. 

There  were  *»xtreme  men  on  both  sides,  of  course. 
"Idaho  Jack,"  professional  gambler,  for  instance,  frankly 
considered  that  the  whole  cown  was  going  to  unmention- 
able depths  of  propriety.  The  organization  of  the  League 
was  regarded  by  him,  and  by  many  others,  as  a  sad  rfi- 
trograde  toward  the  bondage  of  the  ancient  and  dying 
East;  and  that  he  could  not  get  drunk  when  and  where 
he  pleased  Idaho,  as  he  was  called,  regarded  as  a  per- 
sonal grievance. 

But  Idaho  was  never  enamored  of  the  social  ways 
of  Black  Rock.  He  was  shocked  and  disgusted  when  he 
discovered  that  a  "gun"  was  decreed  by  British  law  to 
be  an  unnecessary  adornment  of  a  card-table.  The  man- 
ner of  his  discovery  must  have  been  interesting  to  be- 
hold. 

It  is  said  that  Idaho  was  industriously  pursuing  his 
avocation  in  Slavin's,  with  his  "gun"  lying  upon  the  card- 
table  convenient  to  his  hand,  when  in  walked  Policeman 
Jackson,  Her  Majesty's  sole  representative  in  the  Black 
Rock  district.   Jackson — "Stonewall  Jackson,"  or  "Stone- 


Ai8  The  Breakiug  of  the  League, 


m 


1 


H 


wall,"   as   he   was   called,   for   obvious    reasons — gpently 
tap])ed  tlir  pistol  aiu!  askfd  what  he  used  this  for. 

"I'll  show  you  in  two  holy  minutes  if  you  don't  light 
outl"  said  Idaho,  hardly  lookinj^^  up,  hut  very  angrily, 
for  the  luck  was  against  him.  But  Jackson  tapped  upon 
the  table,  and  said,  sweetly: 

"You're  a  stranger  here ;  you  ought  to  get  a  guide-book 
and  post  yourself.  Now,  the  boys  know  I  don't  interfere 
with  an  innocent  little  game,  but  there  is  a  regulation 
against  playing  it  with  guns;  so,**  he  added,  even  more 
sweetly,  but  fastening  Idaho  with  a  look  from  his  steel- 
gray  eyes,  "I'll  just  take  charge  of  this,"  picking  up  the 
revolver ;  "it  might  go  oflF." 

Idaho's  rage,  great  as  it  was,  was  quite  swallowed  up 
in  his  amazed  disgust  at  the  state  of  society  that  would 
permit  such  an  outrage  upon  personal  liberty.  He  was 
quite  unable  to  play  any  more  that  evening,  and  it  took 
several  drinks  all  rotmd  to  restore  him  to  articulate  speech. 
The  rest  of  the  night  was  spent  in  retaining  for  his  in- 
struction stones  of  the  ways  of  Stonewall  Jackson. 

Idaho  bought  a  new  "gun,"  but  he  wore  it  "in  his 
clothes,"  and  used  it  chiefly  in  the  pastime  of  shooting  out 
the  lights  or  in  picking  off  the  heels  from  the  boys'  boots 
while  a  stag  dance  was  in  progress  in  Slavin's.  But  in 
Stonewall's  presence  Idaho  was  a  most  c  rrect  citken. 
Stonewall  he  could  understand  and  appreciate.  He  was 
fix  feet  three,  and  had  an  eye  of  unpleasant  penetration 
But  this  new  feeling  in  the  community  for  respectability 
he  could  neither  understand  nor  endure.    The  League 


Tl»e  Breaking  of  the  League.  I19 

ber«mc  thr  object  of  liis  indignant  aversion,  nnf]  tlic 
Lcnj^nr  men  of  liis  conlenipl.  He  had  many  synipathi/vi.;, 
and  freqncnt  were  the  assatdts  \\\nm  tlio  newly  horn  so- 
briety of  I^illy  Ihcen  and  others  of  the  League.  Rnt 
fleonhc's  watchfnl  eare  and  Mrs.  Mavor's  steady  influ- 
ence, together  with  the  loyal  co-(;peration  of  the  Lcapijc 
men,  kept  Hilly  safe  so  far.  Nixon,  too,  was  a  marked 
man.  It  may  he  that  he  carried  himself  with  unnecessary 
jauntiness  toward  Slavin  and  Idaho,  saluting  the  for- 
n;er  with  "Awful  dry  weather,  eh,  Slavin?"  and  the  latter 
with  "Hello,  old  sport;  how's  times?"  causing  them  to 
swear  deeply;  and,  as  it  turned  out,  to  do  more  than 
swear. 

But  on  the  whole  the  anti-League  men  weie  in  favor 
of  a  respectable  ball,  and  most  of  the  League  men  de- 
termined to  show  their  appreciation  of  the  concession  of 
the  committee  to  the  principles  of  the  League  in  the  im- 
portant matter  of  refreshments  by  attending  in  force. 

Nixon  would  not  go.  However  jauntily  he  might  talk, 
he  could  not  trust  himself  as  he  said,  where  whisky  was 
flowing,  for  it  got  into  his  nose  "like  a  fish-hook  into  a 
salmon."  He  was  from  Nova  Scotia.  For  like  reason, 
Vernon  Winton,  the  young  Oxford  fellow,  would  not  go. 
When  they  chaffed,  his  lips  grew  a  little  thinner,  and  the 
color  deepened  in  his  handsome  face,  but  he  went  on  his 
way.  Geordie  despised  the  "hale  hypothick"  as  a  "daft 
ploy,"  and  the  spending  of  five  dollars  upon  a  ticket  he 
considered  a  "sinful  waste  o'  guid  siller ;"  and  he  warned 
Billy  against  "coontenancin*  ony  sic  redeeklus  nonsense  '* 


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1 20  The  Brealsing  of  the  League. 

But  no  one  expected  Billy  to  go;  although  the  last  two 
months  he  luul  done  woiulers  for  his  personal  appear- 
ance, and  for  his  position  in  the  social  scale  as  well.  They 
all  knew  what  a  tight  he  was  making,  and  esteemed  him 
accordingly.  How  well  1  rememher  the  pleased  pride  in 
his  face  when  he  tohl  me  in  the  afternoon  of  the  com- 
mittee's urgent  request  that  he  should  join  the  orchestra 
with  his  'cello!  It  was  not  simply  that  his  Velio  was  his 
joy  and  pride,  but  he  felt  it  to  be  a  recognition  of  his 
return  to  respectability. 

I  have  often  wondered  how  things  combine  at  times  to 
a  man's  destruction. 

Had  Mr.  Craig  not  been  away  at  the  Landing  that 
week,  had  Geordie  not  been  on  the  night  shift,  had  Mrs. 
Mavor  not  been  so  occupied  with  the  care  of  her  sick 
child,  it  may  be  Billy  might  have  been  saved  his  fall. 

The  anticipation  of  the  ball  stirred  Black  Rock  and 
the  campo  with  a  thrill  of  expectant  delight.  Nowadays, 
when  I  find  myself  forced  to  leave  my  quiet  smoke  in  my 
studio  after  dinner  at  the  call  of  some  social  engagement 
which  I  have  failed  to  elude,  I  gro.'in  at  my  hard  lot,  and 
I  wonder  as  I  look  back  and  remember  the  pleasurable 
anticipation  with  which  I  viewed  the  approaching  ball. 
But  I  do  not  wonder  now  any  more  than  I  did  then  at 
the  eager  delight  of  the  men  who  for  seven  days  in  the 
week  swung  their  picks  up  in  the  dark  breasts  of  the  mines, 
or  who  chopped  and  sawed  among  the  solitary  silences  of 
the  great  forests.  Any  break  in  the  long  and  weary  mo- 
Motonv  was  welcome:   what  mattered  the  cost  or  cons»- 


The  Breaking  of  the  League.  121 

qiience!  To  the  riulost  and  least  cultured  of  them  the 
sameness  of  the  life  must  have  been  hard  to  bear;  hut 
what  it  was  to  men  who  had  seen  life  in  its  most  cul-  ; 
tured  and  attractive  forms  I  fail  to  imagine.  From  the  '[ 
mine,  black  and  foul,  to  the  shack,  bare,  cheerless  antl 
sometimes  hideously  repulsive,  life  swung  in  heart-grind- 
ing monotony  till  the  longing  for  a  "big  drink"  or  some 
other  "big  break"  became  too  great  to  bear. 

It  was  well  on  toward  evening  when  Sandy's  four- 
horse  team,  with  a  load  of  men  from  the  woods,  came 
swinging  round  tiie  curves  of  the  mountain  road  and 
down  the  street.  A  gay  crowd  they  were  with  their 
briglit,  brown  faces  and  hearty  voices;  and  in  ten  min- 
utes the  whole  street  seemed  alive  with  lumbermen — they 
had  a  faculty  of  spreading  themselves  so.  After  night  fell 
the  minors  came  down  "done  up  slick,"  for  this  was  a 
great  occasion,  and  they  must  be  up  to  it.  The  manager 
appeared  in  evening  dress ;  but  this  was  voted  "too  giddy" 
by  the  majority. 

As  Graeme  and  I  passed  up  to  the  Black  Rock  Hotel, 
in  the  large  store-room  of  which  the  ball  was  to  be  held, 
we  met  old  man  Nelson  looking  very  grave. 

"Going,  Nelson,  a-jn't  you?"  T  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  slowly;  "I'll  drop  in,  though  I 
don't  like  the  look  of  things  much." 

"What's  the  matter.  Nelson?"  asked  Graeme,  cheerily. 
"There's  no  funeral  on  ?" 

"Perliaps  not,"  roiilicl  Nelson,  "but  T  wish  ATr.  Craiir 


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122  The  Breaking  of  the  Ireague. 

were  home."  And  then  he  added:  "There's  Idaho  and 
Slavin  together,  and  you  may  bet  the  devil  isn't  far  off." 

But  Graeme  laughed  at  his  suspicion,  and  we  passed 
on.  The  orchestra  was  tuning  up.  There  were  two  vio- 
lins, a  concertina  and  the  'cello.  Billy  Breen  was  lovingly 
fingering  the  instrument,  now  and  then  indulging  himself 
in  a  little  snatch  of  some  air  that  came  to  him  out  of  his 
ha^jpier  past.  He  looked  perfectly  delighted,  and  as  1 
paused  to  listen  he  gave  me  a  proud  glance  out  of  his 
deep,  little,  blue  eyes,  and  went  on  playing  softly  to  him- 
self.   Presently  Shaw  came  along. 

"That's  good,  Billy!"  he  called  out.  "You've  got  the 
trick  yet,  I  see." 

But  Billy  only  nodded  and  went  on  playing. 

"Where's  Nixon  ?"  I  asked. 

"Gois  to  bed,"  said  Shaw,  "and  I  am  glad  of  it.  He 
finds  that  the  safest  place  on  pay-day  afternoon.  The 
boys  don't  bother  him  there." 

The  dancing-room  w?s  lined  on  two  sides  with  beer- 
barrels  and  whisky-kegs;  at  one  end  the  orchestra  stt, 
at  the  other  was  a  table  with  refreshments,  where  the 

"soft  drinks"  might  be  had.  Those  who  wanted  any- 
thing else  might  pass  through  a  short  passage  into  the 
bar  just  behind. 

This  was  evidently  a  superior  kind  of  ball,  for  the  men 
kep':  on  their  coats,  and  went  through  the  various  figures 
with  faces  of  unnatural  solemnity.  But  the  strain  upon 
their  feelings  was  quite  apparent,  and  it  became  a  ques- 
tion how  long  it  could  be  maintained.  As  the  trips  through 


1 


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Thv  Breaking  of  tlie  League.  123 


r 


the  passageway  became  more  frequent  the  dancing  grew 
in  vigor  and  hilarity,  until  by  the  time  supper  was  an- 
nounced the  stiffness  had  sufficiently  vanished  to  give  no 
further  anxiety  to  the  committee. 

But  the  committee  had  other  cause  for  concern,  inj's- 
much  as  after  supper  certain  of  the  miners  appeared  \wuh 
their  coats  off,  and  proceeded  to  "knock  the  knots  out  o' 
the  floor"  in  break-down  dances  of  extraordinary  energy 
These,  however,  were  beguiled  into  the  bar-room  anc 
"filled  up"  for  safety,  for  the  committee  were  determined 
that  the  respectability  of  the  ball  should  be  preserved  to 
the  end.  Their  reputation  was  at  stake,  not  in  Black  R.ock 
only,  but  at  the  Landing  as  well,  from  which  most  of  the 
ladies  had  come;  and  to  be  shamed  in  the  presence  of 
the  Landing  people  could  not  be  borne.  Their  difficulties 
seemed  to  be  increasing,  for  at  this  point  something 
seemed  to  go  wrong  with  .the  orchestra.  The  'cello  ap- 
peared to  be  wandering  aimlessly  up  and  down  the  scale, 
occasionally  picking  up  the  tune  with  animation,  and  then 
dropping  it.  As  Billy  saw  me  approaching,  he  drew  him- 
self up  with  great  solemnity,  gravely  winked  at  me,  and 
said : 

"Shlipped  a  cog,  Misther  Connor!  Mosh  hunfortu- 
nate!  Beauchiful  hinstrument,  but  shlips  a  cog.  Mosh 
hun  fortunate!" 

And  he  wagged  his  little  head  sagely,  playing  all  the 
while  for  dear  life,  now  second  and  now  lead. 

Poor  Billy!  I  pitied  him,  but  I  thought  chiefly  of  the 
beautiful,  eager  face  that  leaned  toward  him  the  nig:ht  the 


124  1^^6  Breaking  of  the  League. 


n'    I  ■ 


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League  was  made,  and  of  the  bright  voice  that  said 
"You'll  sign  with  me,  Billy  ?"  and  it  seemed  to  me  a  cruel 
deed  to  make  him  lose  his  grip  of  life  and  hope ;  for  this 
is  what  the  pledge  meant  to  him. 

While  I  was  trying  to  get  Billy  away  to  some  safe 
place,  I  heard  a  great  shouting  in  the  direction  of  the 
bar,  followed  by  trampling  and  scuffling  of  feet  in  the 
passage-way.    Suddenly  a  man  burst  through,  crying : 

"Let  me  go !    Stand  back !    I  know  what  Fm  about !" 

It  was  Nixon,  dressed  in  his  best;  black  clothes,  bbu 
shirt,  red  tie,  looking  handsome  enough,  but  half  drunk 
and  wildly  excited.  The  Highland  Fling  competition  was 
on  at  the  moment,  and  Angus  Campbell,  Lachlan's  broth- 
er, was  representing  the  lumber  camps  in  the  contest 
Nixon  looked  on  approvingly  for  a  few  moments,  theti 
with  a  quick  movement  he  seized  the  little  Highlander, 
swung  him  in  his  powerful  arms  clean  off  the  floor,  and 
deposited  him  gently  upon  a  beer-barrel.  Then  he  stepped 
into  the  centre  of  the  room,  bowed  to  the  judges,  c*nd  be- 
gan a  sailor's  hornpipe. 

The  committee  were  perplexed,  but  after  deliberation 
they  decided  to  humor  the  new  competitor,  especially  as 
they  knew  that  Nixon  with  whisky  in  him  was  unpleas- 
ant to  cross. 

Lightly  and  gracefully  he  went  through  his  steps,  the 
men  crowding  in  from  the  bar  to  admire,  for  Nixon  was 
famed  for  his  hornpipe.  But  when,  after  the  hornpipe, 
he  proceeded  to  execute  a  clog-dance,  garnished  with 
acrobatic  feats,  the  committee  interfered.     There  were 


The  Breaking  of  the  Leagii^e.  1:5 

cries  of  "Put  him  out!"  and  "Let  him  alone!  Go  on, 
Nixon!"  And  Nixon  hurled  back  into  the  crowd  two 
of  the  committee  who  had  laid  remonstrating  hands  upon 
liim,  and,  standing  in  the  open  centre,  cried  out,  scorn- 
fully: 

"Put  me  out!  Put  me  out!  Certainly!  Help  your- 
selves! Don't  mind  me!"  Then  grinding  his  teeth,  so 
that  I  heard  them  across  the  room,  he  added  with  savage 
deliberation:  "If  any  man  lays  a  finger  on  me,  I'll — I'll 
eat  his  liver  cold !" 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  glaring  round  upon  the 
company,  and  then  strode  toward  the  bar,  followed  by  the 
crowd  wildly  yelling.  The  ball  was  forthwith  broken  up. 
I  looked  around  for  Billy,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Graeme  touched  my  arm : 

"There's  going  to  be  something  of  a  time,  so  just  keep 
your  eyes  skinned." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Do?  Keep  myself  beautifully  out  of  trouble,"  he  re- 
plied. 

In  a  few  moments  the  crowd  came  surging  back  headed 
by  Nixon,  who  was  waving  a  whisky-bottle  over  his  head 
and  yelling  as  one  possessed. 

"Hello,"  exclaimed  Graeme,  softly;  "I  begin  to  seel 
Look  there!" 

"What's  up?"  I  asked. 

"You  see  Idaho  and  Slavin  and  their  pets,"  he  replied. 

"They've  got  poor  Nixon  in  tow.     Idaho  is  rather 


ia6  The  Breaking  of  the  League. 


nasty/'  he  added,  "but  I  think  I'll  take  a  hand  in  this 
game;   I've  seen  some  of  Idaho's  work  before." 

The  scene  was  one  quite  strange  to  me,  and  was  wild 
beyond  description.    A  hundred  men  filled  the  room.    Bot 
ties  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  men  drank  their 
fill.    Behind  the  refreshment  tables  stood  the  hotei-man 
and  his  barkeeper  with  their  coats  off  and  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  the  shoulder,  passing  out  bottles,  and  drawing  beer 
and  whisky  from  two  kegs  hoisted  up  for  that  purpose. 
Nixon  was  in  his  glory.     It  was  his  night.     Every  man 
was  to  get  drunk  at  his  expense,  he  proclaimed,  flinging 
down  bills  upon  the  table.    Near  him  were  some  League 
men  he  was  treating  liberally,  and  never  far  away  were 
Idaho  and  Slavin  passing  bottles,  but  evidently  drinking 
little. 

I  followed  Graeme,  not  feeling  too  comfortable,  for 
this  sort  of  thing  was  new  to  me,  but  admiring  the  cool 
assurance  with  which  he  made  his  way  through  the  crowd 
that  swayed,  and  yelled,  and  swore,  and  laughed  in  a  most 
disconcerting  manner. 

"Hello !"  shouted  Nixon,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Graeme. 
"Here  you  are !"  passing  him  a.  bottle.  "You're  a  knocker, 
a  double-handed  front-door  knocker.  You  polished  off 
old  whisky-soaked  here,  old  demijohn,"  pointing  to  Slavin. 
"and  I'll  lay  five  to  one  we  can  lick  any  blankety  blank 
thieves  in  the  crowd !"    And  he  held  up  a  roll  of  bills. 

But  Graeme  proposed  that  he  should  give  the  hornpipe 
again,  and  the  floor  was  cleared  at  once,  for  Nixon's  horn« 
pipe  was  very  popular,  and  to-night,  of  course,  was  in 


:.t    • 


The  Breaking  of  the  I^eague.  127 

high  favor.  In  the  midst  of  his  dance  Nixon  stopped 
short,  his  arms  dropped  to  his  side,  his  face  had  a  look 
of  fear,  of  horror. 

There,  before  him,  in  his  riding-cloak  and  boots,  with 
his  whip  in  his  hand,  as  he  had  come  from  his  ride,  stood 
Mr.  Craig.  His  face  was  pallid,  and  his  dark  eyes  were 
blazing  with  fierce  light.  As  Nixon  stopped,  Craig 
stepped  forward  to  him,  and,  sweeping  his  eyes  round 
upon  the  circle,  he  said  in  tonej  intense  with  scorn : 

"You  cowards!  You  get  a  man  where  he's  weak! 
Cowards!    You'd  damn  his  soul  for  his  money!" 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  Craig,  lifting  his  hat, 
said  solemnly: 

"May  God  forgive  you  this  night's  work !" 

Then,  turning  to  Nixon,  and  throwing  his  arm  over 
his  shoulder,  he  said  in  a  voice  broken  and  husky ; 

"Come  on,  Nixon ;  we'll  go !" 

Idaho  made  a  motion  as  if  to  stop  him,  but  Graeme 
Jtepped  quickly  forward,  and  said,  sharply,  "Make  way 
there,  can't  you?"  and  the  crowd  fell  back,  and  we  four 
passed  through,  Nixon  walking  as  in  a  dream,  with 
Craig's  arm  about  him.  Down  the  street  we  went  in 
silence,  and  on  to  Craig's  shack,  where  we  found  old  man 
Nelson,  with  the  tire  blazing,  and  strong  coffee  steaming 
on  the  stove.  It  was  he  that  had  told  Craig,  on  his  ar- 
rival from  the  Landing,  of  Nixon's  fall. 

There  was  nothing  of  reproach,  but  only  gentlest  pity, 
!n  tone  and  touch  as  Craig  placed  the  half-drunk,  dared 
man  in  his  easy-chair,  took  off  his  boots,  broup^ht  him  his 


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i:,8         The  Breaking  of  the  League. 

own  slippers,  and  gave  him  coffee.  Then,  as  his  stupoi 
began  to  overcome  him,  Craig  put  him  in  his  own  bed, 
and  came  forth  with  a  face  written  over  with  grief. 

"Don't  mine!,  old  chap,"  said  Graeme,  kindly. 

But  Craig  looked  at  him  without  a  word,  and,  throwing 
himself  into  a  chair,  put  his  face  in  his  hands.  As  we 
sat  there  in  silence  the  door  was  suddenly  pushed  open, 
and  in  walked  Abe  Baker  with  the  words,  "Where  is 
Nixon?"  and  we  told  him  where  he  was.  We  were  still 
talking  when  again  a  tap  came  to  the  door,  and  Shaw 
came  in,  looking  much  disturbed. 

"Did  you  hear  about  Nixon  ?"  he  asked.  We  told  him 
what  we  knew.  - 

"But  did  you  hear  how  they  got  him?"  he  asked,  ex- 
citedly. 

As  he  told  us  the  tale,  the  men  stood  listening,  with 
faces  growing  hard. 

It  appeared  that  after  the  making  of  the  League  the 
Black  Rock  Hotel  man  had  bet  Idaho  one  hundred  to 
fifty  that  Nixon  could  not  be  got  to  drink  before  Easter. 
All  Idaho's  schemes  had  failed,  and  now  he  had  only 
three  days  in  which  to  win  his  money,  and  the  ball  was 
his  last  chance.  Here  again  he  was  balked,  for  Nixon, 
resisting  all  entreaties,  barred  his  shack  door  and  went 
to  bed  before  nightfall,  according  to  his  invariable  custom 
on  pay-days.  At  midnight  some  of  Idaho's  men  came 
battering  at  the  door  for  admission,  which  Nixon  reluct- 
antly granted.  For  half  an  hour  they  used  every  art  of 
persuasion  to  induce  him  to  go  down  to  the  ball,  the 


The  Breaking  of  the  League.  x^i) 


ex- 


glorious  success  of  which  was  glowingly  depicted;  but 
Nixon  remained  immovable,  and  they  took  their  depart- 
ure, baffled  and  cursing.  In  two  hours  they  returned 
drunk  enough  to  be  dangerous,  kicked  at  the  door  in  vain, 
finally  gained  entrance  through  the  window,  hauled  Nixon 
out  of  bed,  and,  holding  a  glass  of  whisky  to  his  lips, 
bade  him  drink.  But  he  knocked  the  glass  away,  spilling 
the  liquor  over  himself  and  the  bed. 

It  was  drink  or  fight,  and  Nixon  was  ready  to  fight; 
but  after  parley  they  had  a  drink  all  rounvl,  and  fell  to 
persuasion  again.  The  night  was  cold,  and  poor  Nixon 
sat  shivering  on  the  edge  of  his  bed.  If  he  would  take 
one  drink  they  would  leave  him  alone.  He  need  not  show 
himself  so  stiff.  The  whisky  fumes  filled  his  nostrils. 
If  one  drink  would  get  them  off,  surely  that  was  better 
tl-an  fighting  and  killing  some  one  or  getting  killed.  He 
hesitated,  yielded,  drank  his  glass.  They  sat  about  him, 
amiably  drinking  and  lauding  him  as  a  fine  fellow  after 
all.  One  more  glass  before  they  left.  Then  Nixon  rose^ 
dressed  himself,  drank  all  that  was  left  of  the  bottle,  put 
his  money  in  his  pocket,  and  came  down  to  the  dance, 
wild  with  his  old-time  madness,  reckless  of  faith  and 
pledge,  forgetful  of  home,  wife,  babies,  his  v/hole  being 
absorbed  in  one  great  passion — to  drink,  and  drink,  and 
drink  till  he  could  drink  no  more. 

Before  Shaw  had  finished  his  tale,  Craig's  eyes  wer^ 
Btrcaming  with  tears,  and  groans  of  rage  and  pity  broke 
alternately  from  him.  Abe  remained  speechless  for  a 
time,  not  trusting  himself;  but  as  he  heard  C-^ig  groan 


HI 


ft    I 
I- 


>',-i- 


m 


if 
If 

"f, 

TV 
'I 


%n 


El 


■  ! 


430  The  Breaking  of  tlie  League. 

"Oh,  the  beasts!  The  fiends!"  he  seemed  encouraged  to 
let  himseif  loose,  and  he  began  swearing  with  the  coolest 
and  most  blood-curdling  deliberation.  Craig  listened  with 
evident  approval,  apparently  finding  complete  satisfaction 
;n  Abe's  perfonmsnce,  when  suddenly  he  seemed  to  waken 
up,  caught  Abe  by  the  arm,  and  said  in  a  horro.  -stricken 
voice: 

"Stop,  stop  I  God  forgive  us !  We  must  not  swear  like 
this  I" 

Abe  stopped  at  once,  and  in  a  surprised  and  slightly 
grieved  voice  said : 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  that?  Ain't  that  what 
you  wanted?** 

"Yes,  yes !  God  forgive  me !  I  am  afraid  it  was,**  he 
answered  hurriedly ;  "but  I  must  not.*' 

**0*%  don't  you  worry,**  went  on  Abe,  cheerfully;  "I'll 
look  after  that  part ;  and,  anyway,  ain't  they  the  blankest 
hlankety  blank" — going  oflf  again  into  a  roll  of  curses,  till 
Craig,  In  an  agony  of  entreaty,  succeeded  in  arresting  the 
flow  of  profanity  possible  to  no  one  but  a  mountain  stage- 
driver.  Abe  paused,  looking  hurt,  and  asked  if  they  did 
not  deserve  everything  he  was  calling  down  upon  them. 

"Yes,  yes!"  urged  Craig.  "But  that  is  not  our  busi- 
ness." 

"Well,  so  I  reckoned,"  replied  Abe,  reccgnizinf  the 
limitations  of  the  cloth;  "you  ain't  used  to  it,  and  you 
can't  be  expected  to  do  it.  But  it  just  makes  me  feel 
good — let  out  o'  school  like — to  properly  do  *em  up.  the 
blank,  Wank,"  and  off  he  went  again.    It  was  only  undef 


The  Breaking  of  the  League.  13I 


;Iie  pressure  of  Mr.  Craig's  prayers  and  commands  that 
he  finally  agreed  "to  hold  in,  though  it  was  tough." 

"What's  to  be  done?"  asked  Shaw. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Craig,  bitterly.  He  was  exhaust- 
ed with  his  long  ride  from  the  Landing,  and  broken  with 
bitter  disappointment  over  the  ruin  of  all  that  he  had 
labored  so  long  to  accomplish. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Graeme.  "There's  a  good  deal  to 
do." 

It  was  agreed  that  Craig  should  remain  with  Nixon, 
while  the  others  of  us  should  gather  up  what  fragments 
we  could  find  of  the  broken  League.  We  had  just  opened 
the  door,  when  we  met  a  man  striding  up  at  a  great  pace. 
It  was  Geordie  Crawford. 

"Hae  ye  seen  the  lad  ?"  was  his  salutation.  No  one  re- 
plied. So  I  told  Geordie  of  my  last  sight  of  Billy  in  the 
orchestra. 

"An'  did  ye  no*  gang  aifter  him?"  he  asked  in  indig- 
nant surprise,  adding,  with  some  contempt:  "Man,  but 
ye're  a  feckless  buddie!" 

"Billy  gone,  too?"  '"aid  Shaw.  "They  mierht  have  let 
Billy  alone." 

Poor  Craig  stood  in  a  dumb  agony.  Billy's  fall  seemed 
more  than  he  could  bear.  We  went  out,  leaving  him 
heart-broken  amid  the  ruins  of  his  League. 


I   ! 


m> 


JL 


El'    " 


1 

i 
( 


m  i 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  league's  revenge. 

As  we  stood  outside  of  Craig's  shack  in  the  dim  star- 
light, we  could  not  hide  from  ourselves  that  we  were 
l)caten.  It  was  not  so  much  grief  as  a  blind  fury  that 
filled  my  heart,  and  looking  at  the  faces  of  the  men  about 
me  T  read  the  same  feeling  there.  But  what  could  we 
do?  The  yells  of  carousing  miners  down  at  Slavin's  told 
us  that  nothing  could  be  done  with  them  that  night.  To 
be  so  utterly  beaten,  and  unfairly,  and  with  no  chance  of 
revenge,  was  maddening. 

"I'd  like  to  get  back  at  *em,"  said  Abe,  carefully  re- 
pressing himself. 

"I've  got  it,  men,"  said  Graeme  suddenly.  "This  town- 
does  not  require  all  the  whisky  there  is  in  it ;"  and  he  un- 
folded his  plan.  It  was  to  gain  possession  of  Slavin's 
saloon  and  the  bar  of  the  Black  Rock  Hotel,  and  clear  out 
all  the  liquor  to  be  found  in  both  these  places.  I  did  not 
much  like  the  idea;  and  GeorHe  said,  "I'm  ga'en  after  the 
lad ;  I'll  hae  naethin'  tae  dae  wi'  yon.  It's  no*  that  easy, 
an*  it's  a  sinfu'  waste." 

But  Abe  was  wild  to  try  it,  and  Shaw  was  qott«  wil- 
ing, while  old  Nelson  sternly  approved. 

''Nelson,  you  and  Shaw  get  a  coiiple  of  our  men  and 
attend  to  the  saloon.    Slavin  and  the  whele  gcrngf  are 


The  League's  Revenge. 


I3A 


up  at  the  Black  Rock,  so  you  won't  have  much  trouble; 
but  come  lO  us  as  soon  as  you  can." 

/..id  so  we  went  our  ways. 

Tlien  followed  a  scene  the  like  of  which  I  can  never 
Hope  to  see  attain,  and  it  was  worth  a  man's  seeing.  Hut 
there  were  times  that  night  when  I  wished  I  had  not 
agreed  to  follow  Graeme  in  his  plot. 

As  we  went  up  to  the  hotel,  I  asked  Graeme:  "What 
about  the  law  of  this?" 

"Law !"  he  replied  indignantly.  "They  haven't  troubled 
much  about  law  in  the  whisky  business  here.  They  get 
a  keg  of  highwines  and  some  drugs  and  begin  opera- 
tions. No!"  he  went  on;  "if  v/e  can  get  the  crowd  out, 
and  ourselves  in,  we'll  make  them  break  the  law  in  get- 
ting us  out.  The  law  won't  trouble  us  over  smuggled 
whisky.  It  will  be  a  great  lark,  and  they  won't  crow  too 
loud  over  the  League." 

I  did  not  like  the  undertakii.,.^  t  first;  but  as  I  thought 
of  the  whole  wretched  illegal  business  flourishing  upon 
the  weakness  of  the  men  in  the  mines  and  camps,  whom 
I  had  learned  to  regard  as  brothers,  and  especially  as  1 
thought  of  the  cowards  that  did  for  Nixon,  I  let  my 
scruples  go,  and  determined,  with  Abe,  "to  get  back  at 
*em." 

We  had  some  difficulty  getting  them  out.  Abe  began  to 
yell.  Some  men  rushed  out  to  learn  the  cause.  He 
seized  the  foremost  man,  making  a  hideous  uproar  all  the 
while,  and  in  three  minutes  had  every  man  out  of  the 
hotel  and  a  lively  row  going  on 


mm 


^34 


The  League's  Revenge. 


1 


IP 


Ni,-:. . 


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1 


;  • 


iti't 


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II!  i|i 


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■1 


;i- 


In  two  liiinutes  more  Graeme  and  I  had  the  door  to  the 
ball-room  locked  and  barricaded  with  empty  casks.  We 
then  closed  the  door  of  the  bar-room  leading  to  the  out- 
side. The  bar-room  was  a  strongly  built  log-shack,  with 
a  heavy  door  secured,  after  the  manner  of  the  early  cabins, 
with  two  strong  oak  bars,  so  that  we  felt  safe  from  attack 
from  that  quarter. 

The  ball-room  we  could  not  hold  long,  for  the  door  was 
slight  and  entrance  was  possible  through  the  windows. 
But  as  only  a  few  casks  of  liquor  were  left  there,  our  main 
work  would  be  in  the  bar,  so  that  the  fight  would  be  to 
hold  the  passage-way.  This  we  barricaded  with  casks  and 
tables.  But  by  this  time  the  crowd  had  begim  to  realize 
what  had  happened,  and  were  wildly  yelling  at  door  and 
windows.  With  an  axe  which  Graeme  had  brought  with 
him  the  casks  were  soon  stove  in,  and  left  to  empty  then> 
selves. 

As  I  was  about  to  empty  the  last  cask,  Graeme  stopped 
me,  saying,  "l^t  that  stand  hce.  It  will  help  us."  And 
so  it  did.  "Now  skip  for  the  barricade,"  yelled  Graeme, 
as  a  man  came  crashing  through  the  window.  Before  he 
could  regain  his  feet,  however,  Graeme  had  seized  him  and 
flung  him  out  upon  the  heads  of  the  crowd  outside.  But 
through  the  other  windows  men  were  coming  in,  and 
Graeme  rushed  for  the  barricade,  followed  by  two  of 
the  enemy,  the  foremost  of  whom  I  received  at  the  top 
and  hurled  back  upon  the  others. 

'Now,  be  quick!"  said  Graeme;  "I'll  hold  this.    Don't 


««i 


^4 1 


The  League's  Revenge. 


135 


to 


break  any  bottles  on  the  floor — throw  them  out  there," 
pointing  to  a  httle  wintlow  high  up  in  the  wall. 

I  made  al!  haste.  The  casks  did  not  take  much  tin^.c, 
and  soon  the  whisky  and  beer  were  flowing  over  the  floor. 
It  made  me  think  of  Geordie's  regret  over  the  "sinfu' 
waste."  The  bottles  took  longer,  and  glancing  up  now 
and  then  I  saw  that  Graeme  was  being  hard  pressed. 
Men  would  leap,  two  and  three  at  a  time,  upon  the  barri- 
cade, and  Graeme's  arms  would  shoot  out,  and  over  they 
would  topple  upon  the  heads  of  those  nearest.  It  was  a 
great  sight  to  see  him  standing  alone  with  a  smile  on  his 
face  and  the  light  of  battle  in  his  eye,  coolly  meeting  his 
assailants  with  those  terrific,  lightning-like  blows.  In 
fifteen  minutes  my  work  was  done. 

"What  next?"  I  asked.    "How  do  we  get  out?" 

"How  is  the  door?"  he  replied. 

I  looked  through  the  port-hole  and  said :  "A  crowd  of 
men  waiting." 

"We'll  have  to  make  a  dash  for  it,  I  fancy,"  he  replied 
dieerfully,  though  his  fsce  was  covered  with  blood  and 
his  breath  was  coming  in  short  gasps. 

"Get  down  the  bars  and  be  ready."  But  even  as  he 
spoke  a  chair  hurled  from  below  caught  him  on  the  arm, 
and  before  he  could  recover,  a  man  had  cleared  the  barri- 
cade and  was  upon  him  like  a  tiger.    It  was  Idaho  Jack. 

"Hold  the  barricade,"  Graeme  called  out  as  they  both 
went  down. 

"^  sprang  to  his  place,  but  I  had  not  much  hope  of 
Holding  it  long.    I  had  the  heavy  oak  bar  of  the  door  in 


136 


The  League's  Revenge. 


Bi:  !    1 


my  hands,  and  swinging  it  round  my  head  I  made  the 
crowd  g'.ve  back  for  a  few  moments. 

Meantime  Graeme  had  shaken  off  his  enemy,  who  was 
circHng  about  him  upon  his  tip-toes,  with  a  long  knite  in 
his  hand,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  spring. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  this  for  some  time,  Mr. 
Graeme,"  he  said,  smiHng. 

"Yes,"  replied  Graeme,  "ever  since  I  spoiled  your  cut- 
throat game  in  'Frisco.  How  is  the  little  one  ?"  he  added, 
sarcastically. 

Idaho's  face  lost  its  smile  and  became  distorted  with 
fury  as  he  replied,  spitting  out  his  words,  "She — is — 
where  you  will  be  before  I  am  done  with  you." 

"Ah!  you  murdered  her,  too!  You'll  hang  some  beau- 
tiful day,  Idaho,"  said  Graeme,  as  Idaho  sprang  upon  him. 

Graeme  dodged  his  blow  and  caught  his  fore-arm  with 
his  left  hand  and  held  up  high  the  murderous  knife.  Back 
and  forward  they  swayed  over  the  floor,  slippery  with 
whisky,  the  knife  held  high  in  the  air.  I  wondered  why 
Graeme  did  not  strike,  and  then  I  saw  his  right  hand  hung 
limp  from  the  wrist.  The  men  were  crowding  upon  the 
barricade.  I  was  in  despair.  Graeme's  strength  was  go- 
ir^g  fast.  With  a  yell  of  exultant  fury  Idalio  threw  hims  If 
with  all  his  weight  upon  Graeme,  who  could  only  cling  to 
him.  They  swayed  together  toward  me,  but  as  they  fell 
i  brought  down  my  bar  upon  the  upraised  hand  and  sent 
the  knife  flying  across  the  room.  Idaho's  howl  of  rage  and 
pain  was  mingled  with  a  shout  from  below,  and  there, 
hashing  the  crowd  to  right  and  left,  came  old  Nelson,  foV 


rhe  League's  Revenge. 


X37 


lowed  by  Abe,  Sandy,  Baptiste,  Shaw  and  others.  As 
they  reached  the  barricade  it  crashed  down  and,  carrying 
me  with  it,  pinned  me  fast. 

Looking  out  between  the  barrels,  I  saw  what  froze 
my  heart  with  horror.  In  the  fall  Graeme  had  wound  his 
arms  about  his  enemy  and  held  him  in  a  grip  so  deadly 
that  he  could  not  strike ;  but  Graeme's  strength  was  fail- 
ing, and  when  I  looked  I  saw  that  Idaho  was  slowly 
dragging  both  across  the  slippery  floor  to  where  the  knife 
lay.  Nearer  and  nearer  his  outstretched  fingers  came  to 
the  knife.  In  vain  I  yelled  and  struggled.  My  voice  was 
lost  in  the  awful  din,  and  the  barricade  held  me  fast. 
Above  me,  standing  on  a  barrel-head,  was  Baptiste,  yell- 
ing like  a  demon.  In  vain  I  called  to  him.  My  fingers 
could  just  reach  his  foot,  and  he  heeded  not  at  all  my 
touch.  Slowly  Idaho  was  dragging  his  almost  uncon- 
scious victim  toward  the  knife.  His  fingers  were  touch- 
ing the  blade  point,  when,  under  a  sudden  inspiration,  I 
pulled  out  my  penknife,  opened  it  with  my  teeth,  and 
drove  the  blade  into  Baptiste's  foot.  With  a  blood-curd- 
ling yell  he  sprang  down  and  began  dancing  round  in  his 
rage,  peering  among  the  barrels. 

"Look I  look!"  I  was  calling  in  agony,  and  pointing; 
"for  Heaven's  sake,  lookl    Baptiste  1" 

The  hngers  had  closed  upon  the  knife,  the  knife  was 
already  high  in  the  air,  when,  with  a  shriek,  Baptiste 
cleared  the  room  at  a  bound,  and,  before  the  knife  could 
fall,  the  little  Frenchman's  boot  had  caught  the  uplifted 
wrist,  and  sent  the  knife  flyini?  to  the  wall 


i 


r 


^     M 
P'.  '  , 


^14 


if  I 

I'l 


4 


.!■• 


f?f 


I    i 


'I  I 


138 


The  League*s  Revenge. 


Then  there  was  a  great  rushing  sound  as  of  wind 
through  the  forest,  and  the  lights  went  out.  When  I 
awoke,  I  found  myself  lying  with  my  head  on  Graeme's 
knees,  and  Baptiste  sprinkling  snow  on  my  face.  As  I 
looked  up  Graeme  leaned  over  me,  and,  smiling  down 
into  my  eyes,  he  said : 

"Good  boy!  It  was  a  great  fight,  and  we  put  it  up 
well;"  and  then  he  whispered,  "I  owe  you  my  life,  my 
boy." 

His  words  thrilled  my  heart  through  and  through,  for  I 
loved  him  as  only  men  can  love  men;  but  I  only  an- 
swered : 

"I  could  not  keep  them  back.'* 

"It  was  well  done,"  he  said ;  and  I  felt  pro'id. 

I  confess  I  was  thankful  to  be  so  well  out  of  it,  for 
Graeme  got  off  with  a  bone  in  his  wrist  broken,  and  I 
with  a  couple  of  ribs  cracked;  but  had  it  not  been  for 
the  open  barre!  of  whisky  which  kept  them  occupied  for  a 
time,  offering  too  good  a  chance  to  be  lost,  and  for  the 
timely  arrival  of  Nelson,  neither  of  us  had  ever  seen  the 
light  again. 

We  found  Craig  sound  asleep  upon  his  couch.  His 
consternation  on  waking  to  see  us  torn,  bruised  and 
bloody  was  laughable;  but  he  hastened  to  find  us  warm 
water  and  bandages,  and  we  soon  felt  comfortable. 

Baptiste  was  radiant  with  pride  and  light  over  the  fight, 
and  hovered  about  Graeme  and  me  giving  vent  to  his 
feelings  In  admiring  French  and  English  expletives.  But 
Abe  was  disgusted  because  of  the  failure  at  Slavin's;  for 


y 


The  League's  Revenge. 


139 


./ 


y 


when  Nelson  looked  in,  he  saw  Slavin's  French-Canadian 
wife  in  charge,  with  her  baby  on  her  lap,  and  he  came 
baok  to  Shaw  and  said,  "Come  away,  we  can't  touch  this ;" 
and  Shaw,  after  looking  in,  agreed  that  notlnng  could  be 
done.    A  baby  held  the  fort. 

As  Craig  listened  to  the  account  of  the  fight,  he  tried 
hard  not  to  approve,  but  he  could  not  keep  the  gleam  out 
of  his  eyes ;  and  as  I  pictured  Graeme  dashing  back  the 
crowd  thronging  the  barricade  till  he  was  brought  down 
by  the  chair,  Craig  laughed  gently  and  put  his  hand  on 
Graeme's  knee.  And  c.i  I  went  on  to  describe. my  agony 
while  Idaho's  fingers  were  gradually  nearing  the  knife, 
his  face  grew  pale  and  his  eyes  grew  wide  with  horror. 

"Baptiste  here  did  the  business,"  I  said,  and  the  little 
Frenchman  nodded  complacently  and  said : 

*'Dat*s  me  for  sure." 

"By  the  way,  how  is  your  foot?"  asked  Graeme. 

"He's  fuss-rate.  Dat's  what  you  call — one  bite  of— of 
— dat  leel  bees,  he's  dere,  you  put  your  finger  dere,  he's 
not  dere! — what  you  call  him?" 

"Flea!"  I  suggested. 

'Oui !"  cried  Baptiste.    "Dat's  one  bite  of  fi'ea." 

'I  was  thankful  I  was  under  the  barrels,"  I  replied, 
smiling. 

"Oui!  Dat's  mak'  me  ver  mad.  I  jump  ,m*  swear 
mos'  awful  bad.    Dat's  pardon,  M'sieu  Craig,  heh?" 

But  Craig  only  smiled  at  him  rather  sadly.  "It  was 
awfully  risky,"  he  said  to  Graeme,  "and  it  was  hardly 


Ui 


u^ 


'  i 


I 


=s(  J 


Z4O 


The  League's  Revenge. 


worth  it.     They'll  get  more  whisky,  and  anyway  the 
League  is  gone." 

"Well,"  said  Graeme  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  "it  is 
not  quite  such  a  one-sided  affair  as  it  was*' 

And  we  could  say  nothing  in  reply,  for  we  could  hear 
Nixon  snoring  in  the  next  room,  and  no  one  had  heard 
of  Billy,  and  there  were  others  of  the  League  that  we 
knew  were  even  now  down  at  Slavin's.  It  was  thought 
best  that  all  should  remain  in  Mr.  Craig's  shack,  not 
knowing  what  might  happen;  and  so  we  lay  where  we 
could  and  we  needed  none  to  sing  us  to  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  stiff  and  sore,  it  was  to  find  breakfast 
ready  and  old  man  Nelson  in  charge.  As  we  were  seated, 
Craig  came  in,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  not  the  man  of  the 
night  before.  His  courage  had  come  back,  his  face  was 
quiet  and  his  eye  clear;  he  was  his  own  man  again. 

"Geordie  has  been  out  all  night,  but  has  failed  to  find 
Billy,"  he  announced  quietly. 

We  did  not  talk  much ;  Graeme  and  I  worried  with  ©un- 
broken bones,  and  the  others  suffered  from  a  general 
morning  depression.  But,  after  breakfast,  as  the  men 
were  beginning  to  move,  Craig  took  down  his  Bible,  and 
saying: 

"Wait  a  few  minutes,  menl"  he  read  slowly,  in  his 

beautiful  clear  voice,  that  Psalm  for  all  fighters ; 

"God  is  our  refuge  and  strength," 

and  so  on  to  the  noble  words : 

"The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us; 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  refuse." 


The  League's  Revenge. 


141 


the 


How  the  mighty  words  pulled  us  together,  hfted  us  till 
we  grew  ashamed  of  our  ignoble  rage  and  of  our  ignoble 
depression ! 

And  then  Craig  prayed  in  simple,  straight-going  words. 
There  was  acknowledgment  of  failure,  but  I  knew  he  was 
thinking  chiefly  of  himself ;  and  there  was  gratitude,  and 
that  was  for  the  men  about  him,  and  I  felt  my  face  burn 
witk  shame;  and  there  was  petition  for  help,  and  we  all 
thought  of  Nixon,  and  Billy,  and  the  men  wakening  from 
their  debauch  at  Slavin's  this  pure,  bright  morning.  And 
then  he  asked  that  we  might  be  made  faithful  and  worthy 
of  God,  whose  battle  it  was.  Then  we  all  stood  up  and 
shook  hands  with  him  in  silence,  and  every  man  knew  a 
covenant  was  being  made.  But  none  saw  his  meeting 
with  Nixon.    He  sent  us  all  away  before  that. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  the  destruction  of  the  hotel  stock- 
in-trade.  Unpleasant  questions  would  certainly  be  asked, 
and  the  proprietor  decided  to  let  bad  alone.  On  the  point 
of  respectability  the  success  of  the  ball  was  not  conspicu- 
ous, but  the  anti-League  men  were  content,  if  not  jubilant. 

Billy  Breen  was  found  by  Geordie  late  in  the  after- 
noon in  his  own  old  and  deserted  shack,  breathing  heavily, 
covered  up  in  his  filthy,  moldering  bed-clothes,  with  a 
half-empty  bottle  of  whisky  at  his  side.  Geordie's  rn'icf 
and  rage  were  beyond  even  his  Scotch  control.  He  spoke 
few  words,  but  these  were  of  such  concentrated  vehe- 
mence that  no  one  felt  the  need  of  Abe's  assistance  in 
vocabulary. 

Poor  Billy!    We  carried  him  to  Mrs.  Mavor's  ho*^*^; 


r 


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} 

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h  t 


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yii    t    '    •■ 


X43 


The  League's  )^(tvenge. 


put  him  in  a  warm  bath,  rolled  »:Im  in  blankets,  and  gave 
him  little  sips  of  hot  water,  then  of  hot  milk  and  coffee  5 
as  I  had  seen  a  clever  doctor  in  the  hospital  treat  a  simi- 
lar case  of  nerve  and  heart  depression.  But  the  already 
weakened  system  could  not  recover  from  the  awful  shock 
of  the  exposure  following  the  debauch;  and  on  Sunday 
afternoon  we  saw  that  his  heart  was  failing  fast.  All 
day  the  miners  had  been  dropping  in  to  inquire  after  him, 
for  Billy  had  been  a  great  favorite  in  the  other  days,  and 
the  attention  of  the  town  had  been  admiringly  centred 
upon  his  fight  of  these  last  weeks.  It  was  with  no  ordinary 
sorrow  that  the  news  of  his  condition  was  received.  As 
Mid.  Mavor  sang  to  him,  his  large,  coarse  hands  m«ved 
in  time  to  the  music,  but  he  did  not  open  his  eyes  till  he 
heard  Mr.  Craig's  voice  in  the  next  room ;  then  he  spoke 
his  name,  and  Mr.  Craig  was  kneeling  beside  him  in  a 
moment.   The  words  came  slowly : 

"Oi  tried — to  fight  it  hout — ^but  Ci  got  beaten.  Hit 
'urts  to  think  'E's  hashamed  o'  me.  Oi'd  like  t'a  d^ne 
better — Oi  would." 

"Ashamed  of  you,  Billy!"  said  Craig,  in  a  voice  that 
broke.    "Not  He." 

"An* — ye  hall — 'elped  me  so!"  he  went  on.  "Oi  vrish 
Oi*d  'a  done  better — Oi  do,"  and  his  eyes  sought  Geord'c, 
and  then  rested  on  Mrs.  Mavor,  who  smiled  back  at  him 
with  a  world  of  love  in  her  eyes. 

"You  hain't  hashamed  o'  me — ^yore  heyes  saigh  so/* 
he  said  looking'  at  her.  < 


The  League's  Revenge. 


143 


ti 


I 


"N*,  Billy,"  she  said,  and  T  wondered  at  Iier  steady 
voice,  "not  a  bit.    Why,  Billy,  I  am  proud  of  you." 

He  gazed  up  at  her  with  wonder  and  ineffable  love  ic 
his  little  eyes,  then  lifted  his  hand  slightly  toward  her. 
She  knelt  quickly  and  took  it  in  both  of  hers,  stroking  it 
\ni\  kissing  it. 

"Oi  haught  t'a  done  better.  Oi'm  hawful  sorry  Oi  went 
Sack  f\  'Im.  Hit  was  the  lemonaide.  The  boys  didn't 
n.*^A5i  no  'arm — but'  hit  started  the  'ell  hinside." 

Geordie  hurled  out  some  bitter  words. 

**Doii't  be  'ard  on  'em,  Geordie ;  they  didn't  mean  no 
"arm,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  kept  waiting  till  Geordie  said 

hurriedly: 

"Na !  na !  lad— a'll  juist  leave  them  till  the  Almichty.'* 

Then  Mrs.  Mavor  sang  softly,  smoothing  his  hand, 
"Just  as  I  am,"  and  Billy  dozed  quietly  for  half  an  hour. 

When  he  awoke  again  his  eyes  turned  to  Mr.  Craig, 
and  they  were  troubled  and  anxious. 

"Oi  tried  'ard.  Oi  wanted  to  win,"  he  struggled  to  say. 
By  this  time  Craig  was  master  of  himf«;lf,  and  he  an- 
swered in  a  clear,  distinct  voice : 

"Listen,  Billy!  You  made  a  gre^t  fight,  and  you  are 
going  to  win  yet.  And  besides,  do  you  remember  the 
sheep  that  got  lost  over  the  mountains?" — this  parable 
was  Billy's  special  delight— -"He  didn't  beat  it  when  He 
got  it,  did  He?  He  took  it  in  His  arms  and  carried  it 
ho?n?e.    And  so  He  will  you." 


) 


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1: 


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144 


The  League's  Revenge, 


And  Billy,  keeping  his  eyes  fastened  on  Mr.  Craig, 
simply  said: 

"Will  *Er 

"Sure!"  said  Craig. 

"Will  *E?"  he  repeated,  turning  his  eyes  upon  Mrs. 
Mavor. 

"Why,  yes,  Billy,"  she  answered  cheerily,  though  the 
tears  were  streaming  from  her  eyes.  "I  would,  and  He 
loves  you  far  more." 

He  looked  at  her,  smiled,  and  closed  his  eyes.  I  put 
my  hand  on  his  heart ;  it  v*ras  fluttering  feebly.  Again  a 
troubled  look  passed  over  his  face. 

"My — poor — hold — mother,"  he  whispered,  "she's — hin 
—the — wukus." 

"I  shall  take  care  of  her,  Billy,"  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  in  a 
clear  voice,  and  again  Billy  smiled.  Then  he  turned  his 
eyes  to  Mr.  Craig,  and  from  him  to  Geordie,  and  at  last 
to  Mrs.  Mavor,  where  they  rested.  She  bent  over  and 
kissed  him  twice  on  the  forehead. 

"Tell  'er,"  he  said,  with  difficulty, "  *E's  took  me  'ome." 

"Yes,  Billy!"  she  cried,  gazing  into  his  glazing  eyes. 
He  tried  to  lift  her  hand.  She  kissed  him  again.  He 
drew  one  deep  breath  and  lay  quite  still. 

"Thank  the  blessed  Saviour!"  said  Mr.  Craig,  rever- 
ently.   "He  has  taken  him  home." 

But  Mrs.  Mavor  held  the  dead  hand  tight  and  sofebed 
out  passionately.  "Oh,  Billy,  Billy!  you  helped  me  ©nee 
when  I  needed  help  I    I  cannot  forget  1" 


I 


T 


The  Le«igue's  Revenge. 


145 


»» 


And  Gcordie,  groaning,  "Ay,  laddie,  laddie,"  passed  out 
into  the  fading  light  of  the  early  evening. 

Next  day  no  one  went  to  work,  for  to  all  it  seemed  a 
sacred  day.  They  carried  him  into  the  little  church,  and 
tliere  Mr.  Craig  spoke  of  his  long,  hard  fight,  and  of  his 
final  victory ;  for  he  died  without  a  fear,  and  with  love  t« 
the  men  who,  not  knowing,  had  been  his  death.  And  there 
was  no  bitterness  in  any  heart,  for  Mr.  Craig  read  the 
story  of  the  sheep,  and  told  how  gently  He  had  taken 
Billy  home ;  but,  though  no  word  was  spoken,  it  was  there 
the  League  was  made  again. 

They  laid  him  under  the  pines,  beside  Lewis  Mavor; 
and  the  miners  threw  sprigs  of  evergreen  into  the  open 
grave.  When  Slavin,  sobbing  bitterly,  brought  his  sprig, 
no  one  stopped  him,  though  all  thought  it  strange. 

As  we  turned  to  leave  the  grave,  the  light  from  the 
evening  sun  came  softly  through  the  gap  in  the  mountains, 
and,  filling  the  valley,  touched  the  trees  and  the  little 
mound  beneath  with  glory.  And  I  thought  of  that  other 
glory,  which  is  brighter  than  the  sun,  and  was  not  sorry 
that  poor  Billy's  weary  fight  was  over;  and  I  could  not 
help  agreeing  with  Craig  that  it  was  there  the  League 
^^^d  its  revenge. 


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'<   ' 

CHAPTER  X. 


WHAT  CAME  TO  SLAVIN. 


Billy  Breen's  legacy  to  the  Black  Rock  mining  luxiui 
was  a  new  League,  which  was  more  than  the  old  League 
rc-niade.  The  League  was  new  in  its  spirit  and  ia  its 
methods.  The  impression  made  upon  the  camp  by  Billy 
Breen's  death  was  very  remarkable,  and  I  have  never  been 
quite  able  to  account  for  it.  The  mood  of  the  community 
at  the  time  was  peculiarly  susceptible.  Billy  was  ©ne  of 
the  oldest  of  the  old-timers.  His  decline  and  fall  had 
been  a  long  process,  and  his  struggle  for  life  and  man 
hood  was  striking  enough  to  arrest  the  attention  anu 
awaken  the  sympathy  of  the  whole  camp.  We  instinc- 
tively side  with  a  man  in  his  struggle  for  freedom;  for  we 
feel  that  freedom  is  native  to  him  and  to  us.  The  sudden 
collapse  of  the  struggle  stirred  the  men  with  a  deep  pity 
for  the  beaten  man,  and  a  deep  contempt  for  those  who 
had  tricked  him  to  his  doom.  But  though  the  pity  and 
the  contempt  remained,  the  gloom  was  relieved  and  the 
sense  of  defeat  removed  from  the  men's  minds  by  the 
transforming  glory  of  Billy's  last  hour.  Mr.  Craig,  read- 
ing of  the  tragedy  of  Billy's  death,  transfigured  defeat  into 
victory,  and  this  was  generally  accepted  by  the  men  as  the 
true  reading,  though  to  them  it  was  full  of  mystery.  But 
they  could  all  understand  and  appreciate  at  full  valwf 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


147 


l»i€  spirit  that  breathed  through  the  woras  of  the 
dying  man:  "Don't  be  'ard  on  *cm,  they  didn't  mean  no 
'arm."    And  this  was  the  new  spirit  of  the  League. 

It  was  this  spirit  that  surprised  Slavm  into  sudden  tears 
at  the  grave's  side,  lie  had  come  braced  for  curses  and 
vengeance,  for  all  knew  it  was  he  who  had  doctored  Billy's 
lemonade,  and  instead  of  vengeance  the  message  from  the 
dead  that  echoed  through  the  voice  of  the  living  was  one 
of  pity  and  forgiveness. 

But  the  days  of  the  League's  negative,  detens'ive  war- 
fare were  over.  The  fight  was  to  the  death,  and  now  the 
war  was  to  be  carried  into  the  enemy's  country.  The 
League  men  proposed  a  thoroughly  equipped  and  well- 
conducted  coffee-room,  readin'^-room  and  hall,  to  parallel 
the  enemy's  lines  of  operation,  and  defeat  them  with  their 
own  weapons  upon  their  own  ground.  The  main  outlines 
of  the  scheme  were  clearly  defined  and  were  easily  seen, 
but  the  perfecting  of  the  details  called  for  all  Craig's  tact 
and  good  sense.  When,  for  instance,  Vernon  Winton, 
who  had  charge  of  the  entertainment  department,  came 
for  Craig's  opinion  as  to  a  minstrel  troupe  and  private 
theatricals,  Craig  was  prompt  with  his  answer: 

'Anything  clean  goes." 

*A  niggrr  show?"  asked  Winton. 

"Depends  upon  the  niggers,"  replied  Craig  with  a 
gravely  comic  look,  shrewdly  adding,  "ask  Mrs.  Mavor ;" 
and  so  the  League  Minstrel  and  Dramatic  Company  be- 
came an  established  fact,  and  proved,  as  Craig  afterward 
ix>ld  me,  "a  great  means  of  grace  to  the  camp.'* 


« 


** , 


T^ 


i 


M. 


u 


' 


X48 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


Sliaw  liad  cliarge  of  the  social  (lepurtniciif,  whose  sj)*- 
ciai  care  it  was  to  see  that  the  iiicii  were  made  vvclconie  to 
tiie  cozy,  cheerful  rcading-rooin,  where  Ihcy  might  chat, 
stnoke,  read,  write,  or  play  games,  according  to  fancy. 

l»ut  Craig  fc't  that  the  success  or  failure  of  the  scheme 
would  largely  depend  upon  the  character  of  the  Resident 
Manager,  who,  while  caring  for  reading-room  and  hall, 
would  control  and  operate  the  important  department  rep- 
resented by  the  coffee-room. 

"At  this  point  the  whole  business  may  come  to  grief," 
lie  said  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  without  whose  counsel  nothing 
was  done. 

"Why  come  to  grief?"  she  asked  brightly. 

"Because  if  we  don't  get  the  right  man,  that's  what 
will  happen,"  he  replied  in  a  tone  that  spoke  of  anxious 
worry. 

"But  we  shall  get  the  right  man,  never  fear."  Her 
serene  courage  never  faltered,    "lie  will  come  to  us." 

Craig  turned  and  gazed  at  her  in  frank  admission  and 
said : 

"If  I  only  had  your  courage!" 

"Courage!"  she  answered  quickly.  "It  is  not  for  you  to 
say  that ;"  and  at  his  answering  look  the  red  came  into 
her  cheek  ani  the  depths  in  her  eyes  glowed,  and  I  mar- 
veled and  wondered,  looking  at  Craig's  cool  face,  whether 
his  blood  were  running  evenly  through  his  veins.  But 
his  voice  was  quiet,  a  shade  too  quiet  I  thought,  as  he 
gravely  replieil : 

**I  would  often  be  a  coward  but  for  the  shame  of  iL** 


What  Canie  to  Slavin, 


149 


And  so  the  League  wailed  for  the  man  to  come,  who 
was  to  be  Resident  Manager  and  make  the  new  enterprise 
a  success.  And  come  he  did ;  but  tlie  manner  of  his  com- 
ing was  so  extraordinary,  tliat  I  have  l)eh*eved  in  the  doc- 
trine of  a  special  I'rovidence  ever  sitir.e  ;  for  as  Craig  said, 
"If  he  had  come  straight  from  Heaven  I  could  not  have 
been  more  surprised."  - 

While  the  League  was  thus  waiting,  its  interest  cen- 
tred upon  Slavin,  chiefly  because  he  represented  more 
than  any  other  the  forces  of  the  enemy;  and  though  Billy 
Rreen  stood  between  him  and  the  vengeance  of  the  angry 
men  who  would  have  made  short  work  of  him  and  his 
saloon,  nothing  could  save  him  from,  himself,  and  after 
the  funeral  Slavin  went  to  his  bar  and  drank  whisky  as 
he  had  never  drunk  before.  But  the  more  he  drank  the 
fiercer  and  gloomier  he  became,  and  when  the  men  drink- 
ing with  him  chaffed  him,  he  swore  deeply  and  with  such 
threats  that  they  left  him  alone. 

It  did  not  help  Slavin  either  to  have  Nixon  stride  in 
through  the  crowd  drinking  at  his  bar  and  give  him 
words  of  warning. 

*'It  is  not  your  fault,  Slavin"  he  said  in  slow,  cool 
voice,  "that  you  and  your  precious  crew  didn't  send  me 
to  my  death,  too.  You've  won  your  bet,  but  I  want  to 
say,  that  next  time,  though  you  are  seven  to  one,  or  !;^n 
times  that,  when  any  oi  you  boys  offer  me  a  drink  I'n 
take  you  to  rr/'an  fight,  and  I'll  not  disappoint  you,  ini 
some  one  will  be  killed,"  and  so  saying  he  strode  ow 
ae^ain,  leaving  a  mean-looking  crowd  of  men  behind  him. 


\i:>: 


11 


150 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


All  who  had  not  been  concerned  in  the  business  at  Nixon's 
shack  expressed  approval  of  his  position,  and  hoped  he 
would  "see  it  through." 

But  the  impression  of  Nixon's  words  upon  Slavin  was 
as  nothing  ccniparod  with  tliat  made  by  Geordie  Craw- 
ford. ]t  was  not  what  he  said  so  much  as  the  manner  of 
awful  solemnity  he  carried.  Geordic  was  strugffling  con- 
scientiously to  keep  his  promise  to  "not  be  'aril  cm  the 
boys,"  and  found  considerable  relief  in  rememberinff  that 
he  had  agreed  "to  leave  them  tae  the  Almichty."  But  the 
manner  of  leaving  them  was  so  solemnly  aiwful,  that  I 
could  not  nondcr  that  Slavin's  superstitious  Irish  nature 
supplied  him  with  supernatural  terrors.  It  was  the  second 
day  after  the  funeral  that  Geordie  and  I  were  walking 
toward  Slavin's.  There  was  a  great  shout  of  laughter 
as  we  drew  near. 

Geordie  stopped  short,  and  saying,  "We'll  juist  ging  in 
a  meemUe,"  passed  through  the  crowd  and  up  to  the  bar. 

"Michael  Slavin,"  began  Geordie,  and  the  men  stared  in 
dead  silence,  with  their  glasses  in  their  hands,  "Michael 
Slavin,  a'  promised  the  lad  a'd  bear  ye  nae  ill  wttll,  but 
juist  leave  3'e  tae  the  Almichty;  an*  I  want  tae  tell  ye 
that  a'm  keepin'  ma  wur-r-d.  But" — and  here  he  raised 
his  hand,  and  his  voice  became  preternaturally  solemn — 
"his  bluid  is  upon  yer  ban's.    Do  ye  no'  see  it?" 

His  voice  rose  sharply,  and  as  he  pointed,  Slavin  in- 
gttnctivcly  glanced  at  his  hands,  and  Geordie  added : 

"Ay,  and  the  Lord  will  require  it  o'  you  and  yer  hoose." 

They  told  me  that  Slavin  shivered  as  if  taken  with  ague 


IWhat  Came  to  Slavin. 


X51 


hftcr  Geordie  went  out,  and  though  he  laughed  and  swore, 
Iwdid  not  stop  drinking  till  he  sank  into  a  drunken  stupor 
anJ  had  to  be  carried  to  bed.  His  little  French-Canadian 
wif<  could  not  understand  the  change  that  liad  come  over 
her  husband. 

"He's  like  one  bear,"  she  confided  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  to 
whom  she  was  showing  her  baby  of  a  year  old.  "He's  not 
kees  mf  one  tana  dis  day.  He's  mos  hawful  bad,  he's  not 
even  look  at  de  baby."  And  this  seemed  sufficient  proof 
that  somcrtjiing  was  seriously  wrong;  for  she  went  on  to 
say: 

"He's  tifik  more  for  dat  Icel  baby  dan  for  de  wh»le 
worl';  he's  tink  more  for  dat  baby  dan  for  me,"  but  she 
shrugged  het  pretty  little  shoulders  in  deprecation  of  her 
speech. 

"You  muttt  pray  for  him."  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  "and  all 
will  come  rig/it." 

"Ah !  mada-.ne  I"  she  replied,  earnestly,  "every  day,every 
day,  I  pray  la  sainte  Vierge  et  tons  les  saints  for  him."     , 

"You  must  pray  to  your  Father  in  heaven  for  him." 

"Ah !  oui !  I  weel  pray,"  and  Mrs.  Mavor  sent  her  away 
with  smiles,  and  with  new  hope  and  courage  in  her  heart. 
'  She  had  very  soon  need  of  all  her  courage,  for  at  the 
week's  end  her  baby  fell  dangerously  ill.  Slavin's  anxiety 
and  fear  were  not  relieved  much  by  the  reports  the  men 
brought  him  from  time  to  time  of  Geordie's  ominous  fore- 
bodings ;  for  Geordie  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  Avenger 
of  Blood  was  hot  upon  Slavin's  trail ;  and  as  the  sickness 
grew,  he  became  confirmed  in  this  conviction.    While  he 


it 


f 


X52 


What  Ciiine  to  Slav  in. 


could  nut  be  said  to  find  satisfaction  in  Slavin's  inipond- 
iiifj  aflliction  he  could  Viardly  hide  his  complacency  in  the 
promptness  of  Pioviilcncc  in  vindicating  his  llieory  of 
retribution. 

Hut  Geordie's  complacency  was  somewhat  rudely 
shocked  by  Mr.  Craij;'s  answer  to  his  theory  one  <lay. 

"You  read  your  llible  to  little  profit,  it  seems  to  mc, 
Geordie;  or.  |HThaps,  you  have  never  re.ul  the  Mastci  s 
teaching;  about  the  Tower  of  Siloani.  lletter  read  tlial 
and  take  that  warning;  to  yourself." 

Geordie  gazed  after  Mr.  Craig  as  he  turned  away,  and 
nnittered : 

*'The  toor  o'  Siloani,  is  it  ?  Ay,  a'  ken  line  aboot  the 
toor  o*  Siloaiu,  and  aboot  the  toor  o'  nabcl  as  weel ;  an* 
a've  read,  too,  about  the  blasphcemious  ITerod,  an*  sic  like. 
Man,  but  he's  a  hot-headed  laddie,  and  lacks  discrcenicna- 
tion." 

"What  about  Herod,  Geordie?'*  T  asked. 

"Aboot  Herod?" — with  a  strong  tinge  of  contempt  in 
his  tone.  "Aboot  Herod?  Man.  hae  ye  no*  road  in  the 
Screepturs  aboot  Hero<l  an'  the  wur-r-ms  in  the  waine 
o*  him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see,**  I  hastened  to  answer. 

"Ay,  a  fule  can  see  what's  flapped  in  his  face,"  wiiK 
which  bit  of  proverbial  philosophy  he  suddenly  left  nic. 
But  Geordie  thenceforth  contented  himself,  in  Mr.  Craig's 
presence  at  least,  with  ominous  head-shakings,  equally  ag- 
gravating, and  impossible  to  answer. 

That  same  night,  however,  Geordie  showed  that  with 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


163 


all  his  (Iicorics  lie  had  a  man's'  Iriic  hcarl,  for  he  came 
in  haste  to  Mrs.  Mavor  to  say: 

"Ye'll  he  needed  ower  yonder,  a'm  thiiikinV" 

"Why?    Is  the  hahy  worse?    Have  you  been  in?" 

"Na,  na,"  rcphVd  Ceor«'ic  cauliotisly,  "a'll  no  gang 
whtTc  a*ni  no  wanted.  Hut  yon  piiir  thing,  ye  can  hear 
ootside  wc'cpin'  and  moanin* 

"She'll  niayhe  need  ye  tac,"  he  went  on  duhiously  to 
me.  "Yo'ro  a  l<ind  o'  doctor,  a*  hear,"  not  committing' 
liimscif  to  any  opinion  as  to  my  professional  value.  Thit 
Slavin  would  have  none  of  me,  having  got  the  d(jclor 
soIkt  enonph  to  prcscrihe. 

'I^he  interest  of  the  camp  in  .Slavin  was  greatly  increased 
by  the  illness  of  his  b.aby,  which  was  to  him  as  the  apple 
of  his  eye.  There  wore  a  few  who,  impressed  by  Gcordic's 
profoimd  convictions  upon  the  matter,  were  inclined  to 
favor  the  retribution  theory,  and  connect  the  baby's  ill- 
ness with  the  vengeance  of  the  Almighty.  Among  these 
few  was  Slavin  himself,  and  goaded  by  his  remorseful 
terrors  he  sought  relief  in  drink.  P.ut  this  brought  him 
only  deeper  and  fiercer  gloom;  so  that  between  her  suffer- 
ing child  and  her  savagely  despairing  husband,  the  p(X)r 
mother  was  desperate  with  terror  and  grief. 

"Ah !  madame/'  she  sobbed  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  "my  heart 
is  broke  for  him.  He's  beet  noting  for  tree  days,  but  jis 
dreenk,  dreenk,  drcenk." 

The  next  day  a  man  came  for  me  in  baste.  The  baby 
was  dying  and  the  doctor  was  drunk.  T  found  the  little 
one  in  a  convulsion  lying  across  Mrs   Mavor's  knees,  the 


! 


1  ■■ 


i 


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f:  I. 
P 

m 

to  i 


It 


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i 


W 
i}  I. 


111' if' 


154 


What  Came  to  Slavln. 


mother  kneeling  beside  it,  wringing  her  hands  in  a  dumb 
agony,  and  Slavin  standing  near,  silent  and  suffering. 
I  glanced  at  the  bottle  of  medicine  upon  the  table  and 
asked  Mrs.  Mavor  the  dose,  and  found  the  baby  had  been 
poisoned.  My  look  of  horror  told  Slavin  something  was 
wrong,  and  striding  to  me  he  caught  my  arm  and  asked : 

"What  is  it?    Is  the  medicine  wrong?" 

I  tried  to  put  him  off,  but  his  grip  tightened  till  his  fin- 
gers seemed  to  reach  the  bone. 

"The  dose  is  certainly  too  large ;  but  let  me  go,  I  must 
do  something." 

He  let  me  go  at  once,  saying  in  a  voice  that  made  my 
heart  sore  for  him,  "He  has  killed  my  baby ;  he  has  killed 
my  baby."  And  then  he  cursed  the  doctor  with  awful 
curses,  and  with  a  look  of  such  murderous  fury  on  his 
face  that  I  was  glad  the  doctor  was  too  drunk  to  appear. 

His  wife  hearing  the  curses,  and  understanding  the 
cause,  broke  out  into  wailing  hard  to  bear. 

"Ah!  mon  petit  ange!  It  is  dat  wheeskey  dat's  keel 
mon  baby.  Ah !  mon  cheri,  mon  amour.  Ah !  mon  Dieu ! 
Ah,  Michael,  how  often  I  say  that  wheeskey  he's  not  good 
ting." 

It  was  more  than  Slavin  could  bear,  and  with  awful 
curses  he  passed  out.  Mrs.  Mavor  laid  the  baby  in  its 
crib,  for  the  convulsion  had  passed  away ;  and  putting  her 
arms  about  the  wailing  little  French  woman,  comforted 
and  soothed  her  as  a  mother  might  her  child. 

"And  you  must  help  your  husband,"  I  heard  her  say. 
"He  will  need  you  more  than  ever.    Think  of  him." 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


155 


"Ah  I  oui  I  I  weel,"  was  the  quick  reply,  and  from  that 
moment  there  was  no  more  wailing. 

It  seemed  no  more  than  a  minute  till  Slavin  came  in 
again,  sober,  quiet  and  steady ;  the  passion  was  all  gone 
i  from  his  face,  and  only  the  grief  remained. 
♦  As  we  stood  leaning  over  the  sleeping  child  the  little 
thing  opened  its  eyes,  saw  its  father,  and  smiled.  It  was 
too  much  for  him.  The  big  man  dropped  on  his  knees 
with  a  dry  sob. 

"Is  there  no  chance  at  all,  at  all  ?"  he  whispered,  but  I 
could  give  him  no  hope.  He  immediately  rose,  and  pull- 
ing himself  together,  stood  perfectly  quiet. 

A  new  terror  seized  upon  the  mother. 

"My  baby  is  not— what  you  call  it  ?"  going  through  the 
form  of  baptism.  "An*  he  will  not  come  to  la  sainte 
Vierge,"  she  said,  crossing  herself. 

"Do  not  fear  for  your  little  one,"  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  still 
with  her  irms  about  her.  "The  good  Saviour  will  take 
your  darling  into  His  own  arms." 

But  the  mother  would  not  be  comforted  by  this.  And 
Slavin,  too,  was  uneasy. 

"Where  is  Father  Goulet?"  he  asked. 

"Ah,  you  were  not  good  to  the  holy  pere  de  las  tarn, 
Michael,"  she  replied  sadly.  "The  saints  are  not  please 
for  you." 

"Where  is  the  priest?"  he  demanded. 

**I  know  not  for  sure.    At  de  Landin*,  dat's  lak." 

"I'll  go  for  him,"  he  said.    But  his  wife  clung  to  him, 


IS6 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


'•!t 


i:i! 


beseeching  him  not  to  leave  her,  and  indeed  he  was  loth 
to  leave  his  little  one. 

I  found  Craig  and  told  him  the  difficulty.  With  his  usual 
promptness,  he  was  ready  with  a  solution. 

"Nixon  has  a  team.  He  will  go."  Then  he  added,  "I 
wonder  if  they  would  not  like  me  to  baptize  their  little 
one.  Father  Goulet  and  I  have  exchanged  offices  before 
now.  I  remember  how  he  came  to  one  of  my  people  in 
my  absence  when  she  was  dying,  read  with  her,  prayed 
with  her,  comforted  her  and  helped  her  across  the  river. 
He  is  a  good  soul,  and  has  no  nonsense  about  him.  Send 
for  me  if  you  think  ther?  is  need.  It  will  make  no  differ- 
ence to  the  baby,  but  it  will  comfort  the  mother." 

Nixon  was  willing  enough  to  go;  but  when  he  came 
to  the  door  Mrs.  Mavor  saw  the  hard  look  in  his  face. 
He  had  not  forgotten  his  wrong,  for  day  by  day  he  was 
still  fighting  the  devil  within  that  Slavin  had  called  to  life. 
But  Mrs.  Mavor,  under  cover  of  getting  him  instructions, 
drew  him  into  the  room.  While  listening  to  her,  his  eyes 
wandered  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  group  till  they 
rested  upon  the  little  white  face  in  the  crib.  She  noticed 
the  change  in  his  face. 

"They  fear  the  little  one  will  never  see  the  Sav/'Dur  if 
it  is  not  baptized,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

He  was  eager  to  go. 

"I'll  do  my  best  to  get  the  priest,"  he  said,  and  was 
gone  on  his  sixty  miles*  race  with  death. 

The  long  afternoon  wore  on,  but  before  it  was  half 
gone  I  saw-  Nixon  could  not  win,  and  that  the  priest  would 


lalf 
iild 


What  Came  to  Slayin. 


157 


be  t*o  late,  so  I  sent  for  Air.  Craig.  From  the  moment  he 
entered  the  room  he  took  command  of  us  all.  He  was 
so  simple,  so  manly,  so  tender,  the  hearts  of  the  parents 
instinctively  turned  to  him. 

As  he  was  about  to  proceed  with  the  baptism,  the 
mother  whispered  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  who  hesitatingly  asked 
Mr.  Craig  if  he  would  object  to  using  holy  water. 

"To  me  it  is  the  same  as  any  other,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"An'  will  he  make  the  good  sign?"  asked  the  mother, 
timidly. 

And  so  the  child  was  baptized  by  the  Presbyterian  min- 
ister with  holy  water  and  with  the  sign  of  the  cross.  I 
don't  suppose  it  was  orthodox,  and  it  rendered  chaotic 
some  of  my  religious  notions,  but  I  thought  more  of  Craig 
that  moment  than  ever  before.  He  was  more  than  min- 
ister, or  perhaps  he  was  so  good  a  minister  that  day  be- 
cause so  much  a  man.  As  he  read  about  the  Saviour  and 
the  children  and  the  disciples  who  tried  to  get  in  between 
them,  and  as  he  told  us  the  story  in  his  own  simple  and 
beautiful  way,  and  then  went  on  to  picture  the  home  of 
the  little  children,  and  the  same  Saviour  in  the  midst  of 
them,  I  felt  my  heart  grow  warm,  and  I  could  easily  un- 
derstand the  cry  of  the  mother: 

"Oh,  mon  Jesu,  prenez  nioi  arisi,  take  me  wiz  mon 
mignon." 

The  cry  awakened  Slavin's  heart,  and  he  said,  huskily: 
■  "Oh !  Annette !  Annette !" 

"Ah,  oui!  an'  Michael  too!"    Then  to  Mr.  Craig: 


158 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


!! 


1  ! 


"You  link  He's  tak  me  some  day?    Eh?*' 

"All  who  love  Him,"  he  replied. 

"An'  Michael,  too?"  she  asked,  her  eyes  searching  his 
face.    "An' Michael,  too?" 

But  Craig  only  replied ;    "All  who  love  Him." 

"Ah,  Michael,  you  must  pray  le  bon  Je'^u.  He's  garde 
notre  mignon."  And  then  she  bent  uver  the  babe,  whis- 
pering: 

"Ah,  mon  cheri,  mon  amour,  adieu  1  adieu !  mon  ange  1" 
till  Slavin  put  his  arms  about  her  and  took  her  away, 
for  as  she  was  whispering  her  farewells,  her  baby,  with 
a  little  answering  sob,  passed  into  the  House  with  many 
rooms. 

"Whisht,  Annette  darlin' ;  don't  cry  for  the  baby,"  said 
her  husband.  "Shure  it's  better  off  than  the  rest  av  us,  it 
is.  An'  didn't  ye  hear  what  the  minister  said  about  the 
beautiful  place  it  is?  An'  shure  he  wouldn't  lie  to  us  at 
all."  But  a  mother  cannot  be  comforted  for  her  first-bom 
son. 

An  hour  later  Nixon  brought  Father  Goulet.  He  was  a 
little  Frenchman  with  gentle  manners  and  the  face  of  a 
saint.  Craig  welcomed  him  warmly,  and  told  him  what 
he  had  done. 

"That  is  good,  my  brother,"  he  said,  with  gentle  cour- 
tesy, and,  turning  to  the  mother,  "Your  little  one  is  safe." 

Behind  Father  Goulet  came  Nixon  softly,  and  gazed 
down  upon  the  little,  quiet  face,  beautiful  with  the  magic 
of  death.     Slavin  came  quietly   and    stood  beside  him. 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


159 


Nixon  turned  and  offered  his  hand.  But  Slavin  siii, 
moving  slowly  back : 

"I  did  ye  a  wrong,  Nixon,  an'  it's  a  sorry  man  I  am 
this  day  for  it." 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Slavin,"  answered  Nixon,  hurriedly. 
"I  know  how  you  feel.  I've  got  a  baby,  too.  I  want  to  see 
it  again.    That's  why  the  break  hurt  me  so." 

"As  God's  above,"  replied  Slavin  earnestly,  "I'll  hinder 
ye  no  more."    They  shook  hands,  and  we  passed  out. 

We  laid  tha  baby  under  the  pines,  not  far  from  Billy 
Breen,  and  the  sweet  spring  wind  blew  through  the  Gap, 
and  came  softly  down  the  valley,  whispering  to  the  pines 
and  the  grass  and  the  hiding  flowers  of  the  New  Life 
coming  to  the  world.  And  the  mother  must  have  heard 
the  whisper  in  her  heart,  for,  as  the  priest  was  saying 
the  words  of  the  service^  she  stood  with  Mrs.  Mavor's 
arms  about  her,  and  her  eyes  were  looking  far  away  be- 
yond the  purple  mountain-tops,  seeing  what  made  her 
smile.  And  Slavin,  too,  looked  diflFerent.  His  very  fea- 
tures seemed  finer.  The  coarseness  was  gone  out  of  his 
face.    What  had  come  to  him  I  could  not  tell. 

But  \\  hen  the  doctor  came  into  Slavin's  house  that  night 
it  was  the  old  Slavin  I  saw,  but  with  a  look  of  such  deadly 
fury  on  his  face  that  I  tried  10  get  the  doctor  out  at  once. 
But  he  was  half  drunk  and  after  his  manner  was  hideously 
humorous. 

"How  do,  ladies !  How  do,  gentlemen  I"  was  his  loud- 
voiced  salutation.  "Quite  a  professional  gathering,  clergy 
predominating.    Lion  and  lamb  too,  ha!  ha!  which  is  the 


I' 


I 


■Jil, 


160 


What  Came  to  Slavir, 


M 


m>  > 


i: 


[ili 
illl 


lamb,  eh?  hal  ha!  very  good!  awfully  sorry  to  hear  oi 
your  loss,  Mrs.  Slavin;  did  our  best  you  know,  can't  help 
this  sort  of  thing." 

Before  any  one  could  move,  Craig  was  at  his  side,  and 
saying  in  a  clear,  firm  voice,  "One  moment,  doctor," 
caught  him  by  the  arm  and  had  him  out  of  the  room  be- 
fore he  knew  it.  Slavin,  who  had  been  crouching  in  his 
chair  with  hands  twitching  and  eyes  glaring,  rose  and 
followed,  still  crouching  as  he  walked.  I  hurried  after 
Mill,  railing  him  back.  Turning  at  my  voice,  the  doctor 
.^aw  Slavin  approaching.  There  was  somcthl"^  so  terrify- 
iii^Tf  in  his  swift,  noiseless  crouching  motion,  that  the  doc- 
tor, crying  out  in  fear,  "Keep  him  of^',"  fairly  turned  and 
fled.  He  was  too  late.  Like  a  tiger  Slavin  leaped  upon 
him  and  without  waiting  to  strike  had  him  by  the  throat 
with  both  hands,  and  bearing  him  to  the  ground,  worried 
him  there  as  a  dog  might  a  cat. 

Immediately  Craig  and  I  were  upon  him,  but  though  we 
lifted  him  clear  off  the  sfround  we  could  not  loosen  that 
two-handed  strangling  grip.  As  we  we,-e  struggling  there 
a  light  hand  touched  my  shoulder.    It  was  Father  Goulet. 

"Please  let  him  go,  and  stand  away  from  us,"  he  said, 
waving  us  back.    We  obeyed.    He  leaned  over  Slavin  and 
spoke  a  few  words  to  him.    Slavin  started  as  if  struck  a  '. 
heavy  blow,  looked  up  at  the  priest  with  fear  in  his  face, 
but  still  keeping  his  grip. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  the  priest.  Slavin  hesitated.  "Let 
him  go!  quick!"  said  the  priest  again,  and  Slavin  with  a 
snarl  let  go  his  hold  and  stood  sullenly  facing  the  priest. 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


x6i 


»» 


rh  we 
that 

Ithere 
>ul€t. 
said, 
and 
ick  a 
face, 

"Let 

lith  a 

riest. 


I'alher  Goulet  regarded  him  steadily  for  some  seconds 
ami  llicn  uskcd : 

"What  would  you  do?"  His  voice  was  gentle  enough, 
even  sweet,  but  there  was  something  in  it  that  chilled  my 
marrow.    "What  would  you  do?"  he  repeated. 

"He  murdered  my  child,"  growled  Slavin. 

"Ah!  how?" 

"He  was  drunk  and  poisoned  him." 

"Ah !  who  gave  him  drink  ?  Who  made  him  a  drunkard 
two  years  ago?    Who  has  wrecked  his  life?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  even-toned  voice  went  re- 
lentlessly on : 

"Who  is  the  murderer  of  your  child  now?" 

Slavin  groaned  and  shuddered. 

"Go !"  and  the  voice  grew  stern.  "Repent  of  your  sin 
and  add  not  another." 

Slavin  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  motionless  figure  on 
the  ground  and  then  upon  the  priest.  Father  Goulet  took 
one  step  toward  him,  and,  stretching  out  his  hand  and 
pointing  with  his  finger,  said: 

"Go!" 

And  Slavin  slowly  backed  away  and  went  into  his 
house.  It  was  an  extraordinary  scene,  and  it  is  often 
with  me  now ;  the  dark  figure  on  the  ground ;  the  slight, 
erect  form  of  the  priest  with  outstretched  arm  and  finger, 
and  Slavin  backing  away,  fear  and  fury  struggling  in  his 
face. 

It  was  a  near  thing  for  the  doctor,  however,  and  two 


i6z 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


mi 


¥0^ 


hiF: 


S!i 


II 


minutes  more  of  tliat  grip  would  have  done  for  him.  Aa 
it  was,  we  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  reviving  him. 

What  the  priest  did  with  Slavin  after  getting  him  inside 
I  know  not ;  that  hat  always  been  a  mystery  to  me.  But 
when  we  were  passing  the  saloon  that  night  after  taking 
^Irs.  Mavor  home,  we  saw  a  light  and  heard  strange 
sounds  within.  Entering,  we  found  another  whisky  raid 
in  progress,  Slavin  himself  being  the  raider.  We  stood 
some  mcnienis  watching  him  knocking  in  the  heads  of 
casks  and  emptying  bottles.  I  thought  he  had  gone  mad, 
and  approached  him  cautiously. 

"Hello,  Slavin !"  I  called  out ;  "what  does  this  mean  ?** 

He  paused  in  his  strange  work,  and  I  saw  that  his  face, 
though  resolute,  was  quiet  enough. 

"It  means  I'm  done  wid  the  business,  I  am,"  he  said, 
in  a  determined  voice.  "I'll  help  no  more  to  kill  any  man, 
or,"  in  a  lower  tone,  "any  man's  baby."  The  priest's 
words  had  struck  home. 

"Thank  God,  Slavin!"  said  Craig,  offering  his  hand; 
**2^ou  are  much  too  good  a  man  for  the  business." 

"Good  or  bad,  I'm  done  wid  it,"  he  replied,  going  on 
with  his  wOik. 

"You  are  throwing  away  good  money,  Slavin,"  I  said, 
as  the  head  of  a  cask  crashed  in. 

"It's  meself  that  knows  it,  for  the  price  of  whisky  has 
riz  in  towr  this  week,"  he  answered,  giving  me  a  look 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  "Bedad !  it  was  a  rare  clever 
job,"  referring  to  our  Black  Rock  Hotel  affair. 


What  Came  to  Slavin, 


/63 


s»» 


has 

look 

llever 


"But  wor\'t  you  be  sorry  for  this  ?"  asked  Craig. 

"Bcloike  I  will ;  an*  that's  why  I'm  rloin*  it  before  Im 
sorry  for  it,"  he  replied,  with  a  delightful  bull. 

"Look  here,  Slavin,"  said  Craig,  earnestly;  "if  T  can  be 
of  use  to  you  in  any  way,  count  on  nie." 

"It's  good  to  me  that  both  of  yez  have  been,  an'  I'l'  not 
forget  it  to  yez,"  he  replied,  with  like  earnestness. 

As  we  told  Mrs.  Mavor  that  night,  for  Craig  thought 
it  too  good  to  keep,  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  deeper  and 
the  light  in  t'lcm  to  glow  more  intense  as  she  listened  to 
Craig  pouring  out  his  tale.  Then  s  j  gave  him  her  hand 
and  said: 

"You  have  your  man  at  last." 

"What  man?" 

"The  man  you  have  been  waiting  for." 

"Slavin!'* 

"Why  not  ?" 

"I  never  thought  of  it." 

"No  more  did  he,  nor  any  of  us."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
she  added,  gently:   "He  has  befii  sent  to  us.'* 

"Do  you  know,  T  believe  you  are  right,"  Craig  said, 
slowly,  and  then  added:    "But  you  always  are." 

"I  fear  not,"  she  answered ;  but  I  thought  she  liked  to 
hear  his  words. 

The  whole  town  was  astounded  next  morning  when 
Slavin  went  to  work  in  the  mines,  and  its  astonishment 
only  deepened  as  the  days  went  on,  and  he  stuck  to  his 
work.     Before  three  weeks  had  gone  the  League  had 


1 64 


What  Came  to  Slavin, 


P 


m 


bought  and  reniorleled  the  saloon  and  had  secured  Slavin 
as  Resident  Manager. 

IM.e  evening  of  the  reopening  of  Slavin's  saloon,  as  ii 
was  still  called,  was  long  remembered  in  Black  Rock.  It 
was  tlie  occasion  of  the  first  appearance  of  "The  League 
Minstrel  and  Dramatic  Troupe,"  in  what  was  described 
as  a  "hair-lifting  tragedy,  with  appropriate  musical  selec- 
tions." Then  there  was  a  grand  supper,  and  speeches, 
and  great  enthusiasm,  which  reached  its  climax  when 
Nixon  rose  to  propose  the  toast  of  the  evening,  "Our 
Saloon."  His  speech  was  simply  a  quiet,  manly  account 
of  his  long  struggle  with  the  deadly  enemy.  When  he 
came  to  speak  of  his  recent  defeat,  he  said : 

"And  while  I  am  blaming  no  one  but  myself,  I  am  glad 
to-night  that  this  saloon  is  on  our  side,  for  my  own 
sake  and  for  the  sake  of  those  who  have  been  waiting 
long  to  see  me.  But  before  I  sit  down  I  want  to  say 
that  while  I  live  I  shall  not  forget  that  I  owe  my  life  to 
the  man  that  took  me  that  night  to  his  own  shack  and 
put  me  in  his  own  bed,  and  met  me  next  morning  with 
an  open  hand ;  for  I  tell  you  I  had  sworn  to  God  that  that 
morning  would  be  my  last." 

Geordie's  speech  was  characteristic.  After  a  brief  ref- 
erence to  the  "mysterious  ways  o'  Providence,"  which  he 
acknowledged  he  might  sometimes  fail  to  understand,  he 
went  on  to  express  his  unqualified  approval  of  the  new 
saloon. 

"It's  a  cozy  place,  an*  there's  nae  sulphur  aboot.    Be-i 


: 


What  Came  to  Slavin. 


165 


te  to 

and 

with 

I  that 

Iref- 
he 

I,  he 
lew 

Be. 


sides  a'  that,"  he  went  on,  enthusiastically,  "it'll  be  ' 
terrible  savin'.    I've  juist  been  coontin'." 

"You  bet !"  ejaculated  a  voice  with  great  emphasis. 

"I've  juist  been  coontin',"  went  on  Geordie,  ignoring 
the  remark  and  the  laugh  which  followed,  "an'  it's  an 
awfu'-like  money  ye  pit  ower  wi'  the  whusky.  Ye  see 
ye  canna  dae  wi'  ane  bit  glass;  ye  maun  hae  twa  or 
three  at  the  verra  least,  for  it's  no  verra  forrit  ye  get  wi' 
ane  glass.  But  wi'  yon  coffee  ye  juist  get  a  saxpence- 
worth  an'  ye  want    lae  mair." 

There  was  another  shout  of  laughter,  which  puzzled 
Geordie  much. 

"I  dinna  see  the  jowk,  but  I've  slippit  ower  in  whusky 
mair  nor  a  hunner  dollars." 

Then  he  paused,  looking  hard  before  him,  and  twisting 
his  face  into  extraordinary  shapes  till  the  men  looked  at 
him  in  wonder. 

"I'm  rale  glad  o'  this  saloon,  but  it's  ower  late  for  the 
iad  that  canna  be  helpit  the  noo.  He'll  not  be  needin' 
help  o'  oors,  T  doot,  but  there  are  ithers" — and  he  stopped 
abruptly  and  sat  down,  witl    no  applause  following. 

But  when  Slavin,  our  saloon-keeper,  rose  to  reply,  the 
men  jumped  up  on  the  seats  and  yelled  till  they  could 
veil  no  more.  Slavin  stood,  evidently  in  trouble  with 
himself,  and  finally  broke  out : 

"It's  spacheless  I  am  entirely.  What's  come  to  me  I 
know  not,  nor  how  it's  come.  But  I'll  do  my  best  for 
yez."    And  then  the  yelling  broke  out  again. 


I 


106 


What  Came  to  Slavlii. 


I  did  not  yell  myself.  I  was  toe  busy  watching  the 
varying  lights  in  Mrs.  Mavor's  eyes  as  she  looked  from 
Craig  to  the  yelling  men  on  the  benches  and  tables,  and 
then  to  Slavin,  and  I  found  myself  wondering  If  he  knew 
what  it  was  that  came  to  Slavai. 


.L. 


the 
om 
md 
lew 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE      TWO      CALL& 


i/Vith  the  call  to  Mr.  Craig  I  fancy  I  had  sotnething 
lo  do  myself.  The  call  came  from  a  young  congregation 
in  an  Eastern  city,  and  was  based  partly  upon  his  college 
record  and  more  upon  the  advice  of  those  among  the  au- 
thorities who  knew  his  work  in  the  mountains.  But  I 
Hatter  myself  that  my  letters  to  friends  who  were  of  im- 
portance in  that  congregation  were  not  without  influence, 
for  I  was  of  the  mind  that  the  man  who  could  handle 
Black  Rock  miners  as  he  could  was  ready  for  something 
larger  than  a  mountain  mission.  That  he  would  refuse 
I  had  not  imagined,  though  I  ought  to  have  known  him 
better.  He  was  but  little  troubled  over  it.  He  wen^  with 
the  call  and  the  letters  urging  his  acceptance  to  Mrs. 
Mavor.  I  was  putting  the  last  touches  to  some  of  my 
work  in  the  room  at  the  back  of  Mrs.  Mavor's  house 
ivhen  he  came  in.  She  read  the  letters  and  the  call 
quietly,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

''Well,"  he  said,  "should  I  go?'* 

She  started  and  grew  a  little  pale.  His  question  sug* 
gested  a  possibility  that  had  not  occurred  to  her.  That 
he  could  leave  his  work  in  Black  Rock  she  had  hitherto 
never  imagined;  but  there  was  other  work,  and  ho  was 


x68 


The  Two  Calls. 


m 


i..ff 


W:i'^:\> 


ifii 


Vi> 


it  ■'.■■, 


fit  for  good  work  anywhere.  Why  should  he  noi  go^  I 
saw  the  fear  in  her  face,  but  I  saw  more  than  fear  in  her 
eyes,  as  for  a  moment  or  two  she  let  them  rest  on  Craig's 
face.  I  read  her  story,  and  I  was  not  sorry  for  either  of 
them.  But  she  was  too  much  a  woman  to  show  her  heart 
easily  to  the  man  she  loved,  and  her  voice  was  even  and 
calm  as  she  answered  his  question. 

"Is  this  a  very  large  congregation  ?'* 

"One  of  the  finest  in  all  the  East,"  I  put  in  fo  bim, 
*It  will  be  a  great  thing  for  Craijj." 

Craig  was  studying  her  curiously.  I  think  she  noticed 
his  eyes  upon  her,  for  she  went  on  even  more  quietly : 

"It  will  be  a  great  chance  for  work,  and  you  are  abU 
for  a  larger  sphere,  you  know,  than  poor  Black  Rock 
affords." 

"Who  will  take  Black  Rock?"  he  asked. 

"Let  some  other  fellow  have  a  try  at  it/'  I  said.  "Why 
should  you  waste  your  talents  here?" 

"Waste?"  cried  Mrs.  Mavor,  indignantly. 

"Well,  'bury,'  if  you  like  it  better,'*  I  replied. 

"It  would  not  take  much  of  a  grave  for  that  funeral,** 
said  Craig,  smiling. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  "you  will  be  a  great  man,  I 
know,  and  perhaps  you  ought  to  go  now." 

But  he  answered,  coolly.  "There  are  fifty  men  want- 
ing that  Eastern  charge,  and  there  is  only  one  wanting 
iBlack  Rock,  and  I  don't  think  Black  Rock  is  anxious  for 
a  change,  so  I  have  determined  to  stay  where  I  am  yet 
awhile." 


The  Two  Calls. 


169 


. 


Even  my  deep  disgust  and  disappointment  did  not  pre- 
»«nt  me  from  seeing  the  sudden  leap  of  joy  in  Mrs.  Ma- 
yor's eyes,  but  she,  with  a  great  eflfort,  answered  quietly : 

''Black  Rock  will  be  very  glad,  and  some  of  us  very, 
very  glad/* 

Nothing  could  change  his  mind.  There  was  no  one 
he  knew  who  could  take  his  place  just  now,  and  why 
should  he  quit  his  work  ?  It  annoyed  me  considerably  to 
feel  he  was  right.  Why  is  it  that  the  right  things  are  so 
frequently  unpleasant  ? 

And  if  I  had  had  any  doubt  about  the  matter,  the  next 
Sabbath  evening  would  have  removed  it.  For  the  men  came 
about  him  after  the  service  and  let  him  feel  in  their  own 
way  how  much  they  approved  his  decision,  though  the 
self-sacrifice  involved  did  not  appeal  to  them.  They  were 
too  truly  Western  to  imagine  that  any  inducements  the 
East  could  offer  could  compensate  for  his  loss  of  the 
West.  It  was  only  fitting  that  the  West  should  have  the 
best,  and  so  the  miners  took  almost  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  certainly  as  their  right,  that  the  best  man  they  knew 
should  stay  with  them.  But  there  were  those  who  knew 
how  much  of  what  most  men  consider  worth  while  he  had 
given  up,  and  they  lovtd  him  no  less  for  it. 

Mrs.  Mayor's  call  was  not  so  easily  disposed  of.  It 
came  close  upon  the  other,  and  stirred  Black  Rock  as 
nothing  else  had  ever  stirred  it  before. 

I  found  her  one  afternoon  gazing  vacantly  at  some 
legal  documents  spread  out  before  her  on  the  table,  and 


I70 


The  Two  Calls. 


if  it 


Ifit 


ri'>   ■£•' 


evidently  overcome  by  Mieir  contents.  'Hicic  was  first  a 
lawyer's  letter  informing  her  that  by  the  death  of  her 
husband's  father  she  had  come  into  the  whole  of  the 
Mavor  estates,  and  all  the  wealth  pcrtainiu:;  thereto.  The 
letter  asked  for  instructions,  and  urgoJ.  an  immediate  re- 
turn, with  a  view  to  a  personal  superintendence  of  the 
estates.  A  letter,  too,  from  a  distant  cousin  of  her  hus- 
band urged  her  immediate  return  for  many  reasons,  but 
chiefly  on  account  of  tlie  old  mother,  who  had  been  left 
alone  with  none  nearer  of  kin  than  himself  to  care  for  her 
and  cheer  her  old  age. 

With  these  two  came  another  letter  from  her  motlier- 
in-law  hcrseli.  The  crabbed,  trembling  characters  were 
even  more  eloquent  than  the  words  with  which  the  letter 
closed. 

"I  have  lost  my  boy,  and  now  my  husband  is  gone,  and 
I  am  a  lonely  woman.  I  have  many  servants,  and  some 
friends,  but  none  near  to  me,  none  so  near  and  dear  as 
my  dead  son's  wife.  My  days  are  not  to  be  many.  Come 
to  me,  my  daughter;  I  want  you  and  Lewis's  child." 

"Must  I  go?"  she  asked,  with  white  lips. 

**Do  you  know  her  well?"  I  asked. 

"I  only  saw  her  once  or  twice,'*  she  answered;  "but 
she  has  been  very  good  to  me." 

"She  can  hardly  need  you.  She  has  friends..  And 
surely  you  are  needed  here." 

She  looked  at  me  eagerly. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  said. 


. 


The  Tvo  Calls. 


171 


H 


1 


"Ask  any  man  in  the  camp — Sliaw,  Nixon,  young  Win- 
ton,  Gcordic.    Ask  Craig,"  I  replied. 

"Yes,  he  will  tell  me,"  she  said. 

Even  as  she  spoke  Craig  came  up  the  steps.  I  passed 
into  my  sUulio  and  went  on  with  my  work,  for  my  days 
at  Black  Rock  were  getting  few,  and  many  sketches  re- 
mained to  be  filled  in. 

Through  my  open  c'oor  I  saw  Mrs.  Mavor  lay  her  let- 
ters before  Mr.  Craig,  saying,  "I  have  a  call,  too."  They 
thought  not  of  me. 

He  went  through  the  papers,  carefully,  laid  them  down 
without  a  word,  while  she  waited  anxiously,  almost  im- 
patiently, for  him  to  speak. 

"Well  ?"  she  asked,  using  his  own  words  to  her,  "should 
I  go?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  replied ;  "that  is  for  you  to  decide— 
you  know  all  the  circumstances." 

"The  htters  tell  all."  Her  tone  carried  a  feeling  of 
(Hsappointnient.    He  did  not  appear  to  care. 

"The  estates  are  large?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  large  enough — twelve  thousand  a  year." 

"And  has  your  mother-in-law  any  one  with  her  ?" 

"She  has  friends,  but,  as  she  says,  none  near  of  kin 
Her  nephew  looks  after  the  works — iron  works,  you 
know — he  has  shares  in  them." 

"She  is  evidently  very  lonely,"  he  answered,  gravely. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  asked,  and  I  knew  she  was 
waiting  to  hear  him  urge  her  to  stay ;  but  he  did  not  se?, 
or  at  least  gave  no  heed 


':l;' 


•tl 


Ma 


i  i 


J  7a 


TLe  Two  CttlU 


•  <  :annot  ^•'y/'  he  rejieateil,  quietly.  "Tliere  art  many 
thjni,'s  to  corK'^ider;  ihe  estates " 

"Tfie  estates  seem  to  trouble  you/*  she  replied,  almost 
^tttuliy.    Ht  looked  up  in  surprise.    1  wondered  at  hii 

-.lowness. 

'' Vos,  the  estates/'  he  went  on,  "and  tenants,  I  suppose 
--vur.r  mother-iti  law,  your  little  Marjorie's  futuit,  your 
t»wi»  fiiturt/' 

"1  lie  estates  are  in  capable  hands,  I  should  suppose," 
sl:e  lirgod,  "aiiu  iny  future  depends  upon  what  I  choose 
n;y  work  io  be/* 

"l>.jt  one  cannot  shift  one's  responsibilities/*  he  re- 
!';«.<!,  gravely.  "These  estates,  these  tenants,  have  come 
:;j  you,  and  v,ith  tliem  come  duties/* 

"I  do  not  want  them,"  she  cried. 

"That  life  has  great  possibilities  of  good/'  he  said, 
Kindly. 

"I  had  thought  that  perhaps  there  was  work  for  me 
here,"  she  suggested,  timidly. 

"Great  work,'*  he  hastened  to  say.  "You  have  done 
f,'reat  work.  But  you  will  do  that  wherever  you  go.  The 
only  question  is  where  your  work  lies." 

•'You  think  I  should  go,**  she  said  suddenly  and  a  lit- 
tle bitterly. 

"I  cannot  bid  you  stay,"  he  answered,  steadily. 

"TTow  can  T  go?'  she  cried,  appealing  to  him.    "Must  I 


RO 


?" 


How  could  he  resist  thai  appeal  I  could  not  under- 


The  Two  Calls. 


»73 


Stand  His  face  was  cold  and  hard,  aiid  his  voice  was 
almost  harsli  as  he  replied: 

"If  it  is  right,  you  will  go— you  must  go.'* 

Then  she  burst  forth: 

"I  cannot  go  I  shall  sta>  here.  My  work  is  here ,  my 
heart  is  here.  How  can  I  go?  You  thought  it  worth 
your  while  to  stay  here  and  work,  why  should  not  I  ?" 

The  momentary  gleam  in  his  eyes  died  out,  and  again 
he  said,  coldly: 

"This  work  was  clearly  mine.    I  am  needed  here.'* 

"Yes,  yes !"  she  cried,  her  voice  full  of  pain ;  "you  are 
needed,  but  there  is  no  need  of  me." 

"Stop,  stop  1"  he  said,  sharply ;  "you  must  not  say  so." 

"I  will  say  it,  I  must  say  it,"  she  cried,  her  voice  vi- 
brating with  the  intensity  of  her  feeling.  "I  know  you 
do  not  need  me ;  you  have  your  work,  yoitr  miners,  your 
plans ;  you  need  no  one ;  you  are  stronjr.  But/*  and  her 
voice  rose  to  a  cry,  "I  am  not  strong  by  myself;  you  have 
made  me  strong.  I  came  here  a  foolish  girl,  foolish  and 
selfish  and  narrow.  God  sent  me  grief.  Three  years  ago 
rny  heart  died.  Now  I  am  living  ajjain.  I  am  a  woman 
now,  no  longer  a  girl.  You  have  done  this  for  me.  Youi 
life,  your  words,  yourself — you  have  showed  me  a  better, 
a  higher  life,  than  I  had  ever  known  before,  and  now 
you  send  me  away." 

She  paused  abruptly. 

"Blind,  stupid  fool!"  I  said  to  myself. 

He  held  himself  resolutely  in  hand,  answering  care- 


X74 


The  Two  Calls. 


hi 


A 


n 


fully,  but  his  voice  had  lost  its  coldness  and  was  :iweet 
and  kind. 

"Have  I  done  this  for  you  ?  Then  surely  God  has  been 
good  to  me.  And  you  have  helped  me  more  than  any 
words  could  tell  you." 

"Helped!"  she  repeated,  scornfully. 

"Yes,  helped,"  he  answered,  wondering  at  her  scorn. 

"You  can  do  without  my  help,"  she  went  on.  "You 
make  people  help  you.  You  will  get  many  to  help  you ; 
but  I  need  help,  too."  She  was  standing  before  him,  with 
her  hands  tightly  clasped ;  her  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes 
deeper  than  ever.  He  sat  looking  up  at  her  in  a  kind  of 
tnaze  as  she    oured  out  her  words  hot  and  fast. 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  you."  1  Us  coldness  had  hurt  her 
deeply.  "I  am  selfish;  I  am  selfish;  I  am  thinking  of 
myself.  How  shall  I  do?  I  have  grown  to  depend  on 
you,  to  look  to  you.  It  is  nothing  to  you  that  I  go,  but  to 
me "    She  did  not  dare  to  finish. 

By  this  time  Craig  was  standing  before  her,  his  face 
deadly  pale.  When  she  came  to  the  end  of  her  words,  he 
said,  in  a  voice  low,  sweet  and  thrilling  with  emotion : 

"Ah,  if  you  only  knew  1  Do  not  make  me  forget  my- 
self.   You  do  not  guess  what  you  are  doing." 

"What  am  I  doing?  What  is  there  to  know,  but  that 
you  tell  me  easily  to  go?"  She  was  struggling  with  the 
tears  she  was  too  proud  to  let  him  see. 

He  put  his  hands  resolutely  behind  him,  looking  at  her 
as  if  studying  her  face  for  the  first  time.  Under  his 
searching  look  she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  the  waim  color 


TLe  Two  Calls. 


*7i 


'V 


came  slowly  up  into  her  neck  and  face;  then,  as  if  with  a 
sudden  resolve,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  looked  back 
at  him  unflinchingly. 

He  started,  surprised,  drew  slowly  near,  put  his  hands 
upon  her  shoulders,  surprise  giving  place  to  wild  joy. 
She  never  moved  her  eyes;  they  drew  him  toward  her. 
He  took  her  face  between  his  hands,  smiled  into  her  eyes, 
kissed  her  lips.  She  did  not  move;  he  stood  back  from 
her,  threw  up  his  head,  and  laughed  aloud.  She  came 
to  him,  put  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and,  lifting  up  her 
face,  said,  "Kiss  me."  He  put  his  arms  about  her,  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  lips  again,  and  then  reverently  her 
brow.  Then,  putting  her  back  from  him,  but  still  holding 
both  her  hands,  he  cried: 

"No !  you  shall  not  go.    I  shall  never  let  you  go." 

She  gave  a  little  sigh  of  content,  and,  smiling  up  at 
him,  said: 

"I  can  go  now ;"  but  even  as  she  spoke  the  flush  died 
from  her  face,  and  she  shuddered. 

"Never!"  he  almost  shouted;  "nothing  shall  take  you 
away.    We  shall  work  lie  re  together." 

"Ah,  if  we  only  could,  if  we  only  could,*'  she  said, 
piteously. 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded,  fiercely. 

"You  will  send  me  away.  You  will  say  it  is  right  for 
i/ne  to  go,"  she  replied,  sadly. 

"Do  we  not  love  each  other?"  was  his  impatient  an- 
swer. 

"Ah !  yes,  love,"  she  said ;  "but  love  is  not  all." 


176 


The  Two  Calls. 


I 


ti' 


i^i! 


"No!"  cried  Craig;  "but  love  is  the  best." 

"Yes!"  she  said,  sadly;  "love  is  the  best,  and  it  is  for 
love's  sake  we  will  do  the  best." 

"There  is  no  better  work  than  here.  Surely  this  is 
best,"  and  he  pictured  his  plans  before  her.  She  listened 
eagerly. 

"Oh  I  if  it  should  be  right,"  she  cried,  "I  will  do  wha*" 
you  say.    You  are  good,  you  are  wise,  you  shall  tell  me.' 

She  could  not  have  recalled  him  better.  He  stood  silent 
som?  moments,  then  burst  out,  passionately: 

"Why,  vhen,  has  love  come  to  us?  We  did  not  seek 
it.    Surely  love  is  of  God.    Does  God  mock  us?" 

He  threw  himself  into  his  chair,  pouring  out  his  words 
of  passionate  proJestation.  She  listened,  smiling,  then 
came  to  him,  and,  touching  his  liair  as  a  mother  might  her 
child's,  said : 

"(3h,  I  am  very  happy!  T  was  afraid  you  would  not 
care,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  go  that  way." 

"You  shall  not  go,"  he  cried  alv)ud,  as  if  in  pain. 
"Notliing  can  make  that  right." 

But  she  only  said :  "You  shall  tell  me  to-morrow.  You 
caimot  see  to-night,  but  you  will  see,  and  you  will  tell 


me. 


»» 


He  stood  up  and,  holding  both  her  hands,  looked  long 
into  her  eyes,  then  turned  abruptly  away  and  went  out. 

She  stood  where  he  left  her  for  some  moments,  her  face 
radiant  and  her  hands  pressed  upon  her  heart.  Then  she 
came  towards  my  room.    She  found  me  busy  with  my 


i 


The  Two  Calls. 


i77 


lot 


I 


ig 


paintinj;,  but  ns  T  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes,  she  flushed 
slightly,  aud  said: 

"I  quite  forgot  you." 

'So  it  appeared  to  nie." 

•'You  heard?" 

"A'ld  saw,"  I  replied,  boldly.  "It  would  have  been  rude 
to  interrupt,  you  see." 

"Oh,  1  am  so  glad  and  thankful/* 

"Yes;  it  was  rather  considerate  of  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  the  flush  deepening;  "I  am 
j;lad  you  know." 

"I  have  known  some  time." 

"How  could  you?    I  only  knew  to-day  myself." 

"I  have  eyes."    She  flu.shcd  again. 

"Do  you  mean  that  people "  she  began,  anxiously. 

"No;  I  am  not  'people.*  I  have  eyes,  and  my  eyes  hav« 
been  opened." 

"Opened  ?" 

"Yes,  by  love." 

Then  I  told  her  openly  how,  weeks  ago,  I  struggled 
with  my  heart  and  mastered  it,  for  I  saw  it  was  vain  to 
love  her,  because  she  loved  a  better  man  who  loved  her 
in  rp.turn.    She  looked  at  me  shyly  and  said : 

"1  am  sorry." 

"Don't  worry,"  I  said,  cheerfully.  "I  didn't  break  my 
heart,  you  know^ ;  I  stopped  it  in  time." 

"Oh!"  she  said,  slightly  disappointed;  then  her  lips 
began  to  twitch,  and  she  went  off  into  a  fit  of  hystericai 
laughter. 


178 


The  Two  Calls. 


"Forgive  nic,"  she  said,  humbly ;  "but  you  speak  as  if 
it  had  been  a  fever." 

"Fever  is  nothing  to  it/*  I  said,  solemnly.  "It  was  a 
near  thing."  At  which  she  went  off  again.  I  was  glad 
to  see  her  laugh.  It  gave  me  time  to  recover  my  equilib- 
rium, and  it  relieved  her  intense  emotional  strain.  So  I 
rattled  on  some  nonsense  about  Craig  and  myself  till  1 
saw  she  was  giving  no  heed,  but  thinking  her  own 
thoughts ;  and  what  these  vvrere  it  was  not  hard  to  guess. 
Suddenly  she  broke  in  upon  my  talk : 
"He  will  tell  me  that  I  must  go  from  him." 
"I  hope  he  is  no  such  fool,"  1  said,  emphatically  and 
somewhat  rudely,  I  fear;  for  I  confess  I  was  impatient 
with  the  very  possibility  of  separation  for  these  two,  to 
whom  love  meant  so  much.  Some  people  take  this  sort 
of  thing  easily  and  some  not  so  easily;  but  love  for  a 
woman  like  this  comes  once  only  to  a  man,  and  then  he 
carries  it  with  him  through  the  length  of  his  life,  and 
warms  his  heart  with  it  in  death.  And  when  a  man  smiles 
or  sneers  at  such  love  as  this,  I  pity  him,  and  say  no  word, 
for  my  speech  would  be  in  an  unknown  tongue.  So  my 
heart  was  sore  as  I  sat  looking  up  at  this  woman  who 
stood  before  me,  overflowing  with  the  joy  of  her  new 
love,  and  dully  conscious  of  the  coming  pain.  "But  1  soon 
found  it  was  vain  to  urge  my  opinion  thai  she  should 
remain  and  share  the  work  and  life  of  the  man  she  Mved. 
She  only  answered : 

"You  will  help  him  all  you  can,  for  it  will  hurt  nim  tc 
have  me  go.' 


t» 


The  Two  Calls, 


179 


tc 


The  quiver  in  her  voice  took  out  all  the  anf;er  from  my 
heart,  and  before  I  knew  I  had  pledged  myself  tu  do  all 
I  could  to  help  him. 

But  when  I  came  upon  him  that  night,  silting  in  the 
lights  of  his  fire,  I  saw  he  must  be  let  alone.  Some  battles 
we  fight  side  by  side,  with  comrades  cheering  us  and 
l>eing  cheered  to  victory ;  but  there  are  fights  we  may  not 
share,  and  these  are  deadly  fights  where  lives  are  lost  and 
won.  So  I  could  only  lay  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
without  a  word.  He  looked  up  quickly,  read  my  face,  and 
said,  with  a  groan : 

"You  know?" 

**I  could  not  help  it.    But  why  groan?" 

"She  will  think  it  right  to  go,"  he  said,  despairingly. 

"Then  you  must  think  for  her;  you  must  bring  some 
common  sense  to  bear  upon  the  question." 

"I  cannot  see  clearly  yet,"  he  said;  "the  light  will 
come." 

"May  I  show  you  how  I  see  it?"  I  asked. 

"Go  on/'  he  jaid. 

For  an  hour  I  talked,  eloquently,  even  vehemently,  urg- 
ing the  reason  and  right  of  my  opinion.  She  would  be 
doing  no  more  than  every  woman  does,  no  more  than  she 
did  before;  her  mother-in-law  had  a  comfortable  home, 
all  that  wealth  could  procure,  good  servants  and  friends ; 
the  estates  could  be  managed  without  her  personal  super- 
vision ;  after  a  few  years'  work  here,  they  would  go  East 


i8o 


The  Two  Calls. 


ir 


ft 


for  little  Marjorie's  education ;  why  should  two  lives  be 
broken  ? — and  so  I  went  on. 

He  listened  carefully,  even  eagerly. 

"You  make  a  good  case,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  smile. 
■'I  will  take  time.  Perhaps  you  are  right.  The  light  will 
come.  Surely  it  will  come.  But,"  and  here  lie  sprang  up 
and  stretched  his  arms  to  full  length  above  his  head,  "I 
am  not  sorry ;  whatever  comes  I  am  not  sorry.  It  is  great 
to  have  her  love,  but  greater  to  love  her  as  I  do.  Thank 
God!  nothing  can  take  that  away  T  am  willing,  glad  to 
suffer  for  the  joy  of  loving  her." 

Next  morning,  before  I  was  awake,  he  was  gone,  leav- 
ing a  note  for  me: 

"My  Dear  Connor — I  am  due  at  the  Landing.  When 
I  see  you  again  I  think  my  way  will  be  clear.  Now  all  is 
dark.  At  times  I  am  a  coward,  and  often,  as  you  some- 
times kindly  inform  ^ne,  an  ass;  but  I  hope  I  may  never 
become  a  mule. 

"I  am  willing  to  be  led,  or  want  to  be,  at  any  rate.  T 
must  do  the  best — not  second  best — for  her,  for  me.  The 
best  only  is  God's  will.  What  else  would  you  have  ?  Be 
good  to  her  these  days,  dear  old  fellow.    Yours, 

"Craig." 

How  often  those  words  have  braced  me  he  will  never 
know,  but  I  am  a  better  man  for  them :  "The  best  only  is 
God's  will.  What  else  would  you  have?"  I  resolved  I 
would  rage  and  fret  no  more,  and  that  I  would  worry 
Mrs.  Mavor  with  no  more  argument  or  expostulation, 
but,  as  my  friend  had  asked,  "Be  good  to  her." 


m^ 


CHAPTER  XII. 


LOVE    IS     NOT    ALL. 


I 

pry 
m, 


Those  days  when  we  were  waiting  Craig's  return  we 
spent  in  the  woods  or  on  the  mountain  sides,  or  down 
in  the  canyon  beside  the  stream  that  danced  down  to  meet 
the  Black  Rock  River,  I  talking  and  sketching  and  read- 
ing, and  she  listening  and  dreaming,  with  often  a  happy 
smile  upon  her  face.  But  there  were  moments  when  a 
cloud  of  shuddering  fear  would  sweep  the  smile  away, 
and  then  I  would  talk  of  Craig  till  the  smile  can»c  back 
again. 

But  the  woods  and  the  mountains  and  the  river  were 
her  best,  her  wisest,  friends  during  those  days.  How 
sweet  the  ministry  of  the  woods  to  her!  The  trees  were 
in  their  new  summer  leaves,  fresh  and  full  of  life.  They 
swayed  and  rustled  above  us,  flinging  their  interlacing 
shadows  upon  us,  and  their  swaying  and  their  rustling 
soothed  and  comforted  like  the  voice  and  touch  of  a 
mother.  And  the  mountins,  too,  in  all  the  glory  of  their 
varying  robes  of  blues  and  purples,  stood  calmly,  solemnly 
about  us,  uplifting  our  souls  into  regions  of  rest.  The 
changing  lights  and  shadows  flitted  swiftly  over  theif 
rugged  fronts,  but  left,  them  ever  as  before  in  their  stead- 
fast majesty.    "God's  in  His  heaven."    What  would  you 


i8a 


Love  is  Not  All. 


Sljfl 


have?  And  ever  the  little  river  sang  its  cheerful  couragti 
fearing  not  the  great  mountains  that  threatened  to  ba; 
its  passage  to  the  sea.  Mrs.  Mavor  heard  the  song  anr* 
her  courage  rose. 

"We  too  shall  find  our  way,"  she  said,  and  I  believei* 
her. 

But  through  these  days  I  could  not  make  her  out,  and 
I  found  myself  studying  her  as  I  might  a  new  acquaint- 
ance. Years  had  fallen  from  her;  she  was  a  girl  again, 
full  of  young,  warm  life.  She  was  as  sweet  as  before,  but 
there  was  a  soft  shyness  over  her,  a  half-shamed,  half- 
frank  consciousness  in  her  face,  a  glad  light  in  her  eyes 
that  made  her  all  new  to  me.  Her  perfect  trust  in  Craig 
was  touching  to  see. 

"He  will  tell  me  what  to  do,"  she  would  say,  'all  I  began 
to  realize  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  him  to  betray 
such  trust,  and  be  anything  but  true  to  the  best. 

So  much  did  I  dread  Craig's  home-coming,  that  I  sent 
for  Graeme  and  old  man  Nelson,  who  was  more  and  more 
Graeme's  trusted  counsellor  and  friend.  They  were  both 
highly  excited  by  the  story  I  had  to  tell,  for  I  thought  it 
best  to  tell  them  all ;  but  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  and 
disgusted  that  they  did  not  see  the  matter  in  my  light. 
Tri  vain  I  protested  against  the  madness  of  allowing  any- 
thing to  send  these  two  from  ef.ch  other.  Graeme  summed 
up  the  discussion  in  his  own  emphatic  way,  but  with  an 
earnestness  in  his  words  not  usual  with  him. 

"Craig  will  know  better  than  any  of  us  what  is  right 


Love  is  Not  All. 


183 


an 


to  do,  and  he  will  do  that,  and  no  man  can  turn  him  from 
it,  and,"  he  added,  "I  should  be  sorry  to  try." 

Then  my  wrath  rose,  and  I  cried : 

"It's  a  tremendous  shame  I  They  love  each  other.  You 
are  talking  sentimental  humbug  and  nonsense !" 

"He  must  do  the  right,"  said  Nelson  in  his  deep,  quiet 
voice. 

"Right!  Nonsense!  By  what  right  does  he  send 
from  him  the  woman  he  loves?" 

"  'He  pleased  not  Himself,'  "  quoted  Nelson,  reverently. 

"Nelson  is  right,"  said  Graeme.  "I  should  not  like  to 
see  him  weaken." 

"Look  here,"  I  stormed;  "I  didn't  bring  you  men  to 
back  him  up  in  his  nonsense.  I  thought  you  could  kccj) 
your  heads  level." 

"Now,  Connor,"  said  Graeme,  "don't  rage — leave  that 
for  the  heathen ;  it's  bad  form,  and  useless  besides.  Craig 
will  walk  his  way  where  his  light  falls ;  and  by  all  that's 
holy,  I  should  hate  to  see  him  fail ;  for  if  he  weakens  like 
the  rest  of  us,  my  North  Star  will  have  dropped  from 
my  sky." 

"Nice  selfish  spirit,"  I  muttered. 

"Entirely  so.  I'm  not  a  saint,  but  I  feel  like  steering  by 
one  when  I  see  him." 

When  after  a  week  had  gone,  Craig  rode  up  'nc  early 
morning  to  the  shack  door,  his  face  told  me  that  he  had 
fought  his  fight  and  had  not  been  beaten.  He  had  ridden 
all  night  and  was  ready  to  drop  vith  weariness. 

"Connor,  old  boy,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand ;  "I'm 


1 84 


Love  is  Not  All. 


li 


•H     f 


rather  played.  There  was  a  bad  row  at  the  Landing.  I 
have  just  closed  poor  Colley's  eyes.  It  was  awful.  I  must 
get  sleep.    Look  after  Dandy,  will  you,  like  a  good  chap  ?'* 

"Oh,  Dandy  be  hanged !"  I  said,  for  I  knew  it  was  not 
the  fight,  nor  the  watching,  nor  the  long  ride  that  had 
shaken  his  iron  nerve  and  given  him  that  face.  "Go  in 
and  lie  down ;  I'll  bring  you  something." 

"Wake  me  in  the  afternoon,"  he  said ;  "she  is  waiting. 
Perhaps  you  will  go  to  her" — his  lips  quivered — "my  nerve 
is  rather  gone."  Then,  with  a  very  wan  smile  he  added, 
"I  am  giving  you  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"You  go  to  thunder!"  I  burst  out,  for  my  throat  was 
hot  and  sore  with  grief  for  him. 

"I  think  I'd  rather  go  to  sleep,"  he  replied,  still  smiling. 
I  could  not  speak,  and  was  glad  of  the  chance  of  being 
alone  with  Dandy. 

When  I  came  in  I  found  him  sitting  with  his  head  in 
his  arms  upon  the  table  fast  asleep.  I  made  him  tea,  forced 
him  to  take  a  warm  bath,  and  sent  him  to  bed,  while  I 
went  to  Mrs.  Mavor.  I  went  with  a  fearful  heart,  but 
that  was  because  I  had  forgotten  the  kind  of  woman  she 
was. 

She  was  standing  in  the  light  of  the  window  waiting  for 
me.  Her  face  was  pale  but  steady,  there  was  a  proud 
light  in  her  fathomless  eyes,  a  slight  smile  parted  her 
lips,  and  she  carried  her  head  like  a  queen. 

"Come  in,"  she  said.  "You  need  not  fear  to  tell  me. 
I  saw  him  ride  home.  He  has  not  failed,  thank  God  I  J 
am  proud  of  him ;  I  knew  he  would  be  true.    He  loves 


I/>ve  is  Not  All. 


i8s 


n 


—she  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  and  a  faint  color  tinged 
her  cheek — "but  he  knows  love  is  not  all — ah,  love  is  not 
all !    Oh,  I  am  glad  and  proud  I" 

"Glad !"  I  gasped,  amazed. 

"You  would  not  have  him  prove  faithless!"  she  said, 
with  proud  defiance. 

"Oh,  it  is  high  sentimental  nonsense,"  I  could  not 
help  saying. 

"You  should  not  say  so,"  she  replied,  and  liei  voice 
rang  clear.  "Honor,  faith,  and  duty  are  sentiments,  but 
they  are  not  nonsense." 

In  spite  of  my  rage  I  was  lost  in  amazed  admiration  of 
the  high  spirit  of  the  woman  who  stood  up  so  straight 
before  me.  But,  as  I  told  how  worn  and  broken  he  was, 
she  listened  with  changing  color  and  swelling  bosom,  her 
proud  courage  all  gone,  and  only  love,  anxious  and  pity- 
ing, in  her  eyefs. 

"Shall  I  go  to  him?"  she  asked  with  timid  eagerness 
and  deepening  color. 

"He  is  sleeping.  He  said  he  would  come  to  you,"  I 
replied. 

"I  shall  wait  for  him,"  she  said,  softly,  and  the  tender- 
ness in  her  tone  went  straight  to  my  heart,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  a  man  might  suffer  much  to  be  loved  with  love  such 
as  this. 

In  the  early  afternoon  Graeme  came  to  her.  She  met 
him  with  both  hands  outstretched,  saying  in  a  low  voice: 

"I  am  very  napoy." 

"Are  you?"  he  a?Verl.  anxiously. 


l86 


Love  is  Not  All. 


"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  but  her  voice  was  liJce  a  sob ;  "quite, 
quite  sure." 

They  talked  long  together  till  I  saw  that  Craig  must 
soon  be  coming,  and  I  called  (iraeme  away.  I  le  held  her 
hands,  looking  steadily  into  her  eyes,  and  said : 

"You  are  better  even  than  I  thought;  I'm  going  to  be 
a  better  man." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  her  smile  did  not  fade 
as  she  answered : 

"Yes !  you  will  be  a  good  man,  and  God  will  give  you 
work  to  do." 

He  bent  his  head  over  her  hands  and  stepped  back  from 
her  as  from  a  queen,  but  he  spoke  no  word  till  we  came 
to  Craig's  door.  Then  he  said  with  humility  that  seemed 
strange  in  him,  "Connor,  that  is  great,  to  conquer  one's 
self.    It  is  worth  while.    I  am  going  to  try.*' 

I  would  not  have  missed  his  meeting  with  Craig.  Nel- 
son was  busy  with  tea.  Craig  was  writing  near  the  win- 
dow. He  looked  up  as  Graeme  came  in,  and  nodded  an 
easy  good-evening ;  but  Graeme  strode  to  him  and  putting 
one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  held  out  his  oiher  for  Craig 
to  take. 

After  a  moment's  surprise,  Craig  rose  to  his  feet,  and, 
facing  him  squarely,  took  the  offered  hand  in  both  of  his 
and  held  it  fast  without  a  word.  Graeme  was  the  first 
to  speak,  and  his  voice  was  deep  with  emotion : 

"You  are  a  great  man,  a  good  man.  I'd  give  something 
to  have  your  grit." 


Love  is  Not  All. 


187 


Poor  Craig  stood  looking  at  him,  not  daring  to  speak 
for  some  moments,  then  he  said  cviietly : 

"Not  good  nor  great,  but,  thank  God,  not  quite  a 
traitor." 

"Good  man!"  went  on  Graeme,  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder.    "Good  man !    But  it's  tough." 

Craig  sat  down  quickly,  saying,  "Don't  do  that,  old 
chap!"    . 

I  went  up  with  Craig  to  Mrs.  Mavor's  door.  She  did 
not  hear  us  coming,  but  stood  near  the  window  gazing  up 
at  the  mountains.  She  was  dressed  in  some  rich  stuflf, 
and  wore  at  her  breast  a  bunch  of  wild  flowers.  I  had 
never  seen  her  so  beautiful.  1  did  not  wonder  that  Craig 
paused  with  his  foot  upon  the  threshold  to  look  at  her. 
She  turned  and  saw  us.  With  a  glad  cry,  "Oh !  my  dar- 
ling; you  have  come  to  me,"  she  came  with  outstretched 
arms.  I  turned  and  fled,  but  the  cry  and  the  vision  were 
long  with  me. 

It  was  decided  that  night  that  Mrs.  Mavor  should  go 
the  next  week.  A  miner  and  his  wife  were  going  East, 
and  I  too  would  join  the  party. 

The  camp  went  into  mourning  at  the  news;  but  it 
was  understood  that  any  display  of  grief  before  Mrs. 
Mavor  was  bad  form.    She  was  not  to  be  annoyed. 

But  when  I  suggested  that  she  should  leave  quietly, 
and  avoid  the  pain  of  saying  good-by,  she  flatly  refused : 

"I  must  say  good-by  to  every  man.  They  love  me 
and  I  love  them." 

It  was  decided,  too,  at  first,   that  there  should   be 


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i88 


Love  Is  Not  All, 


InL; 


nothing  in  the  way  of  a  testimonial,  but  when  Craig  found 
out  that  the  men  were  coming  to  her  with  all  sorts  of 
extraordinary  gifts,  he  agreed  that  it  would  be  better  that 
they  should  unite  in  one  gift.  So  it  was  agreed  that  I 
should  buy  a  ring  for  her.  And  were  it  not  that  the 
contributions  were  strictly  limited  to  one  dollar,  the  purse 
that  Slavin  handed  her  when  Shaw  read  the  address  at 
the  farewell  supper  would  have  been  many  times  filled 
with  the  gold  that  was  pressed  upon  the  committee.  There 
were  no  speeches  at  the  supper,  except  one  by  myself  in 
reply  on  Mrs.  Mayor's  behalf.  She  had  given  me  the 
words  to  say,  and  I  was  thoroughly  prepared,  else  I 
should  not  have  got  through.    I  began  in  the  usual  way : 

"Mr.  Chairman,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  Mrs.  Mavor  is " 

but  I  got  no  further,  for  at  the  mention  of  her  name  the 
men  stood  on  the  chairs  and  yelled  until  they  could  yell 
no  more.  There  were  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  of 
them,  and  the  effect  was  overpowering.  But  I  got  through 
my  speech.    I  remember  it  well.    It  began : 

"Mrs.  Mavor  is  greatly  touched  by  this  mark  of  your 
love,  and  she  will  wear  your  ring  always  with  pride." 
And  it  ended  with : 

"She  has  one  request  to  make,  that  you  will  be  true  to 
the  League,  and  that  you  stand  close  about  the  man 
who  did  most  to  make  it.  She  wishes  me  to  say  that 
however  far  away  she  may  have  to  go,  she  is  leaving  hei 
heart  in  Black  Rock,  and  she  can  think  of  no  greater  joy 
than  to  come  back  to  you  again." 

Then  they  had  "The  Sweet  By  and  By,"  but  ihc^  wen 


Love  is  Not  All. 


189 


would  not  join  in  the  refrain,  unwilling  to  lose  a  note  of 
the  glorious  voice  they  loved  to  hear.  Before  the  last 
verse  she  beckoned  to  mc.  1  went  to  her  standing  by 
Craig's  side  as  he  played  for  her.  "Ask  them  to  sing," 
she  entreated ;  "I  cannot  bear  it." 

"Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  you  to  sing  in  the  refrain,"  I  said, 
and  at  once  the  men  sat  up  and  cleared  their  throats.  The 
singing  was  not  good,  but  at  the  first  sound  of  the  hoarse 
notes  of  the  men  Jraig's  head  went  down  over  the  organ, 
for  he  was  thinking,  I  suppose,  of  the  days  before  them 
when  they  would  long  in  vain  for  that  thrilling  voice  that 
soared  high  over  their  own  hoarse  tones.  An.  after  the 
voices  died  away  he  kept  on  playing  till,  half  turning 
toward  him,  she  sang  alone  once  more  the  refrain  in  a 
voice  low  and  sweet  and  tender,  as  if  for  him  alone.  And 
so  he  took  it,  for  he  smiled  up  at  her  his  old  smile  full  of 
courage  and  full  of  love. 

Then  for  one  whole  hour  she  stood  saying  good-by  to 
those  rough,  gentle-hearted  men  whose  inspiration  to 
goodness  she  had  been  for  five  years.  It  was  very  won- 
derful and  very  quiet.  It  was  understood  that  there  was 
to  be  no  nonsense,  and  Abe  had  been  heard  to  declare  that 
he  would  "throw  out  any  cotton-backed  fool  who  couldn't 
hold  himself  down,"  and  further,  he  had  enjoined  them 
to  remember  that  "her  arm  wasn't  a  pump-handle." 

At  last  they  were  all  gone,  all  but  her  guard  of  honor—- 
Shaw,  Vernon,  Winton,  Geordie,  Nixon,  Abe,  Nelson, 
Craig  and  myself. 
This  was  the  real  farev/ellj  for  though,  in  the  early  light 


Hi-' 

m 

fj  ! 

li, 

-if  1 1 


190 


Love  is  Not  All. 


W 


[f1: 


of  the  next  morning,  two  hundred  men  stood  silent  about 
the  stage,  and  then  as  it  moved  out  waved  their  hats 
and  yelled  madly,  this  was  the  last  touch  they  had  of  her 
hand.  Her  place  was  up  on  the  driver's  seat  between  Abe 
and  Mr.  Craig,  who  held  little  Marjorie  on  his  knee.  The 
rest  of  the  guard  of  honor  were  to  follow  with  Graeme's 
team.  It  was  Winton's  fine  sense  that  kept  Graeme  from 
following  them  close.  "Let  her  go  out  alone,"  he  said, 
and  so  we  held  back  and  watched  her  go. 

She  stood  with  her  back  toward  Abe's  plunging  four- 
horse  team,  and  steadying  herself  with  one  hand  on  Abe's 
shoulder,  gazed  down  upon  us.  Her  head  was  bare,  her 
lips  parted  in  a  smile,  her  eyes  glowing  with  their  own 
deep  light ;  and  so,  facing  us,  erect  and  smiling,  she  drove 
away,  waving  us  farewell  till  Abe  swung  his  team  into 
the  canyon  road  and  we  saw  her  no  more.  A  sigh  shud- 
dered through  the  crowd,  and,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice, 
Winton  said :  "God  help  us  all." 

I  close  my  eyes  and  see  it  all  again.  The  waving  crowd 
of  dark-faced  men,  the  plunging  horses,  and  high  up  be- 
side the  driver,  the  swaying,  smiling,  waving  figure,  and 
about  all  the  mountains,  framing  the  picture  with  their 
dark  sides  and  white  peaks  tipped  with  the  gold  of  the 
rising  sun.  It  is  a  picture  I  love  to  look  upon,  albeit  it 
jails  uj.  another  that  I  can  never  see  but  through  tears. 

I  look  across  a  strip  of  ever-widening  water,  at  a  group 
Df  men  upon  the  wharf,  standing  with  heads  uncovered, 
every  man  a  hero,  though  not  a  man  of  them  suspects  it, 
least  of  all  the  man  who  stands  in  front,  strong,  resolute, 


Love  is  Not  All. 


191 


self-ooiiquti-ed.  And,  gazing  long,  I  think  1  see  him  turn 
again  to  Lis  place  among  the  men  of  the  mountains,  not 
forgetting,  but  every  day  remembering  the  great  love  that 
came  to  him,  and  remembering,  too,  that  love  is  not  all. 
It  is  then  the  tears  come. 

But  for  that  picture  two  of  us  at  least  are  better  men 
to-da" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


now    NELSON     CAME    HOME. 


I 


ul 


9 


Through  the  long  summer  the  mountains  and  the  pines 
were  with  me.  And  through  the  winter,  too,  busy  as  I 
was  fining  in  my  Black  Rock  sketches  for  the  railway 
people  who  would  still  persist  in  ordering  them  by  the 
dozen,  the  memory  of  that  stirring  life  would  come  over 
me,  and  once  more  I  would  be  among  the  silent  pines  and 
the  mighty  snow-peaked  mountains.  And  before  me 
would  appear  the  red-shirt(id  shantymen  or  dark-faced 
miners,  great,  free,  bold  fellows,  driving  me  almost  mad 
with  the  desire  to  seize  and  fix  those  swiftly  changing 
groups  of  picturesque  figures.  At  such  times  I  would 
drop  my  sketch,  and  with  eager  brush  seize  a  group,  a 
face,  a  figure,  and  that  is  how  my  studio  comes  to  be 
filled  with  the  men  of  Black  Rock.  They  are  all  about  me. 
Graeme  and  the  men  from  the  woods,  Sandy,  Baptiste,  the 
Campbells,  and  in  many  attitudes  and  groups  old  man 
Nelson;  Craig,  too,  and  his  miners,  Shaw,  Geordie,  Nixon, 
and  poor  old  Billy  and  the  keeper  of  the  League  saloon. 

It  seemed  as  if  I  lived  among  them,  and  the  illusion  was 
greatly  helped  by  the  vivid  letters  Graeme  sent  me  from 
time  to  time.  Brief  notes  came  now  and  then  from  Craig, 
too,  to  whom  I  had  sent  a  faithful  account  of  how  I  had 
brought  Mrs.  Mavor  to  her  ship,  and  of  how  I  had 
watched  her  sail  away  with  none  too  brave  a  face,  as  she 
held  up  her  hand  that  bore  the  miners'  ring,  and  smiled 
with  that  deep  light  in  her  eyes.  Ah !  those  eyes  that  have 
driven  me  to  despair  and  made  me  fear  that  I  am  no  great 
painter  after  all,  in  spite  of  what  my  friends  tell  me 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


193 


e  pines 
;y  as  I 
"ailway 
by  the 
le  over 
les  and 
)re  me 
k-faced 
►St  mad 
langing 
would 
■oup,  a 
to  be 
out  me. 
ste,  the 
d  man 
^ixon, 
oon. 
on  was 
i  from 
Craig, 
I  had 
I  had 
as  she 
smiled 
at  have 
great 
ell  me 


who  come  in  to  smoke  my  cigars  and  praise  my  brush. 
I  can  get  the  brow  and  hair,  and  mouth  and  pose,  but 
the  eyes !  the  eyes  elude  me — and  the  faces  of  Mrs.  Mavor 
on  my  'vall,  that  the  men  praise  and  rave  over,  are  not 
such  aF  I  could  show  to  any  of  the  men  from  the 
'.riountains. 

Graeme's  letters  tell  me  chiefly  about  Craig  and  hi^ 
doings,  and  about  old  man  Nelson;  while  from  Craig  1 
hear  about  Graeme,  and  how  he  and  Nelson  arc  standing 
at  his  back,  and  doing  what  they  can  to  fill  the  gap  that 
never  can  be  filled.  The  three  are  much  together,  I  can 
see,  and  I  am  glad  for  them  all,  but  chiefly  for  Craig, 
whose  face,  grief-stricken  but  resolute,  and  often  gentle 
as  a  woman's,  will  not  leave  me  nor  let  me  rest  in  peace. 

The  note  of  thanks  he  sent  me  was  entirely  character- 
istic. There  were  no  heroics,  much  less  pining  or  self- 
pity.  It  was  simple  and  manly,  not  ignoring  the  pain  but 
making  much  of  the  joy.  And  then  they  had  their  work 
to  do.  That  note,  so  clear,  so  manly,  so  nobly  sensible, 
stiffens  my  back  yet  at  times. 

In  the  spring  came  the  startling  news  that  Black  Ro<:k 
would  soon  be  no  more.  The  mines  were  to  close  down 
on  April  i.  The  company,  having  allured  the  confiding 
public  with  enticing  descriptions  of  marvelous  drifts, 
veins,  assays,  and  prospects,  and  having  expended  vast 
sums  of  the  public's  mo^ey  in  developing  the  mines  till 
the  assurance  of  their  reliability  was  absolutely  final,  calm- 
ly shut  down  and  vanished.  With  their  vanishing  vanishes 
1^1  ack  Pock,  not  without  loss  and  much  deep  cursing  on 
the  part  of  the  men  brourht  some  hundreds  of  miles  to 
aid  the  company  in  its  extraordinary  and  wholly  inex- 
plicable game. 

Personallv  it  rrievprl  mc  to  think  that  my  plan  of  rc- 
tuminer  to  Black  Rock  could  never  be  carried  out.    It  was 


R'l 


!'• 


iii 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


i 


4 

i 


M,>        \ 


'aI'& 


r:;«i 


a  great  compensation,  however,  that  the  three  men  most 
representative  to  me  of  that  life  were  soon  to  visit  me 
actually  in  my  own  home  and  den.  Graeme's  letter  said 
that  in  one  month  they  might  be  expected  to  appear.  At 
least  he  and  Nelson  were  soon  to  come,  and  Craig  would 
soon  follow. 

On  receiving  the  great  news,  I  at  once  looked  up  young 
Nelson  and  his  sister,  and  we  proceede«l  to  celebrate  the 
joyful  prospect  with  a  specially  good  dinner.  I  found  the 
greatest  delight  in  picturing  the  joy  and  pride  of  the  old 
man  in  his  children,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  fifteen  or 
sixteen  years.  The  mother  had  died  some  five  years 
before,  then  the  farm  was  sold,  and  the  brother  and  sister 
came  into  the  ci^.y ;  and  any  father  might  be  proud  of  them. 
The  son  was  a  well-made  young  fellow,  handsome  enough, 
thoughtful,  and  solid-looking.  The  girl  reminded  me  of 
her  father.  The  same  resolution  was  seen  in  the  mouth 
and  jaw,  and  the  same  passion  slumbered  in  the  dark  gray 
eyes.  She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  carried  herself  well, 
and  one  would  always  look  at  her  twice.  It  would  be 
worth  something  to  see  the  meeting  between  father  and 
daughter. 

But  fate,  the  greatest  artist  (  f  us  all,  takes  little  count  of 
the  careful  drawing  and  the  bright  coloring  of  our 
fancy's  pictures,  but  with  rude  hand  deranges  all,  and 
with  one  swift  sweep  pamts  out  the  bright  and  paints  in 
the  dark.  And  this  trick  he  served  me  when,  one  June 
night,  after  long  and  anxious  waiting  for  some  word  from 
the  West,  my  door  suddenly  opened  and  Graeme  walked 
in  upon  me  like  a  spectre,  gray  and  voiceless.  My  shout 
of  welcome  was  choked  back  by  the  look  in  his  face,  and 
I  could  only  gaze  at  him  and  wait  for  his  word.  He 
gripped  my  hand,  tried  to  speak,  but  failed  to  make  words 
come. 


How  Ntlson  Came  Hom•^ 


195 


"Sit  down,  old  man,"  I  said,  pushing  him  into  my  chair, 
"and  take  your  time." 

He  obeyed,  looking  at  me  with  burning,  sleepless  eyes. 
My  heart  was  sore  for  his  misery,  and  I  said:  "Don't 
mind,  old  chap;  it  can't  be  so  awfully  bad.  You're  here 
safe  and  sound  at  any  rate,"  and  so  I  went  on  to  give  him 
time.    But  he  shuddered  and  looked  around  and  groaned. 

**Now,  look  here,  Graeme,  let's  have  it.  When  did  you 
land  here?  Where  is  Nelson ?  Why  didn't  you  bring  him 
up?" 

"He  is  at  the  station  in  his  coffin,"  he  answered,  slowly. 

"In  his  coffin?"  I  echoed,  my  beautiful  picture  all  van- 
ishing.   "How  was  it?" 

"Through  my  cursed  folly,"  he  groaned,  bitterly. 

"What  happened  ?"  I  asked.  But  ignoring  my  question, 
he  said:  "I  must  see  his  children.  I  have  not  slept  for 
four  nights.  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  doing ;  but  I  can't 
rest  till  I  see  his  children.  I  promised  him.  Get  them 
for  me." 

"To-morrow  will  do.  Go  to  sleep  now,  and  we  shall 
arrange  everything  to-morrow,"  I  urged. 

"No!"  he  said,  fi'recely;  "to-night — now!" 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  listening,  pale  and  ^^rief- 
stricken,  to  the  story  of  their  father's  death. 

Poor  Graeme  was  relentless  in  his  self-condemn  ition  as 
he  told  how,  through  his  "cursed  folly,"  old  Nelson  was 
killed.  The  three,  Craig,  Graeme,  and  Nelson,  had  come 
as  far  as  Victoria  together.  There  they  left  Craig,  and 
came  on  to  San  Francisco.  In  an  evil  hour  Graeme  met 
a  companion  of  other  and  evil  days,  and  it  was  not  long 
till  the  old  fever  came  upon  him. 

In  vain  Nelson  warned  and  pleaded.  The  reaction  from 
the  monotony  and  poverty  of  camp  life  to  the  excitement 
and  Ittxury  of  the  San  Francisco  gaming  places  swung 


y 


1 '  1 


I-  I 


^''':, 


X96 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


Graeme  quite  off  his  feet,  and  all  that  Nelson  could  do 
was  to  follow  from  place  to  place  and  keep  watch. 

"And  there  he  would  sit,"  said  Graeme,  in  a  hard,  bit- 
ter voice,  "waiting  and  watching  often  till  the  gray  morn- 
ing light,  while  my  madness  held  me  fast  to  the  table. 
One  night,"  here  he  paused  a  moment,  put  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  shuddered ;  but  quickly  he  was  master  of  him- 
self again,  and  went  on  in  the  same  hard  voice:  "One 
night  my  partner  and  I  were  playing  two  men  who  had 
done  us  up  before.  I  knew  they  were  cheating,  but  could 
not  detect  them.  Game  after  game  they  won,  till  I  was 
furious  at  my  stupidity  in  not  being  able  to  catch  them. 
Happening  to  glance  at  Nelson  in  the  corner,  I  caught  a 
meaning  look,  and  looking  again,  he  threw  me  a  signal. 
I  knew  at  once  what  the  fraud  was,  and  next  game  charged 
the  fellow  with  it.  He  gave  me  the  lie;  I  struck  his 
mouth,  but  before  I  could  draw  my  gun,  his  partner  had 
me  by  the  arms.  What  followed  I  hardly  know.  While 
I  was  struggling  to  get  free,  I  saw  him  reach  for  his 
weapon;  but,  as  he  drew  it,  Nelson  sprang  across  the 
table,  and  bore  him  down.  When  the  row  was  over, 
three  men  lay  on  the  floor.  One  was  Nelson,  he  took  the 
shot  meant  for  nie." 

Again  the  story  paused. 

"And  the  man  that  shot  him  ?" 

I  started  at  the  intense  fierceness  in  the  voice,  «rid. 
looking  upon  the  girl,  saw  her  eyes  blazing  with  a  terrible 
light. 

"He  is  dead,"  answered  Graeme,  indifferently. 

"You  killed  him?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

Graeme  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  answered  slowly : 

"I  did  not  mean  io.  He  came  at  me.  I  struck  him 
harder  than  I  knew.    He  never  moved." 

•  1^  drew  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  waited. 


:ould  do 

lard,  bit- 
ly  morn- 
lie  table, 
ce  in  his 

r  of  him- 
:  "One 
who  had 
)ut  could 
ill  I  was 
ch  them, 
caught  a 
a  signal, 
i  charged 
ruck  his 
•tner  had 
.  While 
1  for  his 
TOSS  the 
[as  over, 
took  the 


:e,   «riJ, 
terrible 


slowly: 
Ick  him 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


^97 


««i 


'I  got  him  to  a  private  ward,  had  the  best  doctor  in  the 
city,  and  sent  for  Craig  to  \'ictoria.  For  three  days  we 
thought  he  would  live — he  was  keen  to  get  home;  but 
by  the  time  Craig  came  we  had  given  up  hope.  Oh,  but 
I  was  thankful  to  see  Craig  come  in,  and  the  joy  in  the 
old  man's  eyes  was  beautiful  to  see.  There  was  no  pain 
at  last,  and  no  fear.  He  would  not  allow  me  to  reproach 
myself,  saying  over  and  over,  'You  would  have  done  the 
same  for  me' — as  I  would,  fast  enough — 'and  it  is  better 
me  than  you.  I  am  old  and  done ;  you  will  do  much  good 
yet  for  the  boys.'  And  he  kept  looking  at  me  till  I  could 
only  promise  to  do  my  best. 

"But  I  am  glad  I  told  him  how  much  good  he  had 
done  me  during  the  last  year,  for  he  seemed  to  think  that 
too  good  to  be  true.  And  when  Craig  told  him  how  he 
had  helped  the  boys  in  the  camp,  and  how  Sardy  and 
Baptiste  and  the  Campbells  would  always  be  better  men 
for  his  life  among  them,  the  old  man's  face  actually  shone, 
as  if  light  were  coming  through.  And  with  surprise  and 
joy  he  kept  on  saying,  'Do  you  think  so?  Do  you  think 
so?  Perhaps  so,  perhaps  so.'  At  the  last  he  talked  of 
Christmas  night  at  the  camp.  You  were  there,  you  re- 
member. Craig  had  been  holding  a  service,  and  some- 
thing happened,  I  don't  know  what,  but  they  both  knew." 

"I  know,"  I  said,  and  I  saw  again  the  picture  of  the 
old  man  under  the  pine,  upon  his  knees  in  the  snow,  with 
his  face  turned  up  to  the  stars. 

"Whatever  it  was,  it  was  in  his  mind  at  the  very  last, 
and  I  can  never  forget  his  face  as  he  turned  it  to  Craig. 
One  hears  of  such  things ;  I  had  often,  but  had  never  put 
much  faith  in  them ;  but  joy,  rapture,  triumph,  these  are 
what  were  in  his  face,  as  he  said,  his  breath  coming  short, 
'You  said — He  wouldn't — fail  me — you  were  right — not 
once — not  once — He  stuck  to  me — I'm  glad  he  told  me— 


I 


f 


r 


!  > 


I 


■n 


198 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


iliank  God — for  you — you  sliowcd — nic — I'll  see  Him — 
and — tell  llini — '  And  Craijjf,  kncolinpf  beside  him  so 
steady — I  was  behaving  like  a  fool — smiled  down  through 
•In-?  sn  v?Jl.nl'nj^"t^rs*lTmruir'dim^ycs  so  brightly,  till  they 
could  see  no  more.  Thank  him  for  that!  He  helped  the 
old  man  through,  and  he  helped  mc,  too,  that  night, 
thank  God!"  And  Graeme's  voice,  hard  till  now,  broke 
in  a  sob. 

He  had  forgotten  us,  and  was  back  beside  his  passing 
iriend,  and  all  his  self-control  could  not  keep  back  the 
llowing  tears. 

"It  was  his  life  or  mine,"  he  said  huskily. 

The  'brother  and  sister  were  quietly  weeping,  but  spoke 
no  word,  though  I  knew  Graeme  was  waiting  for  them. 

I  took  up  the  word,  and  told  of  what  I  had  known  ol 
Nelson,  and  his  inHuence  upon  the  men  of  Black  Rock. 
They  listened  epgerly  enough,  but  still  without  speaking. 
There  seemed  nothing  to  say,  till  I  suggested  to  Graeme 
that  he  must  get  some  rest.  Then  the  girl  turned  to  him, 
and,  impulsively  putting  out  her  hand,  said  : 

"Oh,  it  is  all  so  sad;  but  how  can  we  ever  thank  you?" 

"Thank  me!"  gasped  Graeme.  "Can  you  forgive  me? 
I  brought  him  to  his  death." 

"No,  no!  You  must  not  say  so,"  she  answered,  hur- 
riedly.   "You  would  have  done  the  same  for  him." 

"God  knows  I  would,"  said  Graeme,  earnestly;  "and 
God  bless  you  for  your  words !"  And  I  was  thankful  to 
see  the  tears  start  in  his  dry,  burning  eyes. 

We  carried  him  to  the  old  home  in  the  country,  that 
he  might  lie  by  the  side  of  the  wife  he  had  loved  and 
wronged.  A  few  friends  met  us  at  the  wayside  station, 
and  followed  in  sad  procession  along  the  country  roadl, 
that  wound  past  farms  and  through  woods,  and  at  last  up 
to  the  ascent  where  the  quaint,  old  wooden  church,  black 


I  il 


Him— 
him  so 

hrougli 
till  they 
ped  thi- 
L  night, 
',  broke 

passing 
ack  the 


It  spoke 
)r  them, 
fiown  ol 
k  Rock, 
peakingf. 
Graeme 
to  him, 

you?" 
ive  me? 

?d,  hur- 

;  "and 
ikful  to 

that 

and 

station, 

road, 

[last  up 

1,  black 


How  Nelson  Came  Home. 


199 


with  the  rains  and  snows  of  many  years,  stood  among  its 
silent  graves.  The  little  graveyard  sloped  gently  toward 
the  setting  sun,  and  from  it  one  could  see,  far  on  every 
side,  the  lields  of  grain  and  nieadowland  that  wandered 
off  over  softly  undulating  hills  to  meet  the  maple  woods 
at  the  horizon,  dark,  green  and  cool.  Hero  and  there 
white  farm  houses,  with  great  barns  standing  near,  looked 
out  from  clustering  orchards. 

Up  the  grassgrown  walk,  and  through  the  crowding 
mounds,  over  which  waves,  uncut,  the  long,  tangling 
grass,  we  bear  our  friend,  and  let  him  gently  down  into 
the  kindly  bosom  of  mother  earth,  dark,  moist  and  warm. 
The  sound  of  a  distant  cowbell  mingles  with  the  voice  of 
the  last  prayer;  the  clods  drop  heavily  with  heart-start- 
ling echo;  the  mound  is  heaped  and  shaped  by  kindly 
friends,  sharing  with  one  another  the  task ;  the  long 
rough  sods  are  laid  over  and  patted  into  place;  the  old 
minister  takes  farewell  in  a  few  words  of  gentle  sympa- 
thy; the  brother  and  sister,  with  lingering  looks  at  the 
two  graves  side  by  side,  the  old  and  the  new,  step  into 
the  farmer's  carriage,  and  drive  away ;  the  sexton  locks 
the  gate  and  goes  home,  and  we  are  left  outside  alone. 

Then   we  went  back  and  stood  by  Nelson's  grave. 

After  a  long  silence  Graeme  spoke. 

"Connor,  he  did  not  grudge  his  life  to  me — and  I 
think" — and  here  the  w'ords  came  slowly — "I  understand 
now  what  that  means,  'Who  loved  me  and  gave  Himself 
for  me.' " 

Then  taking  oflf  his  hat,  he  said  reverently :  "By  God's 
help  Nelson's  life  shall  not  end,  but  shall  go  on.  Yes,  old 
manl"  looking  down  upon  the  grave,  "I'm  with  you;" 
and  lifting  up  his  face  to  the  calm  sky,  "God  help  me  to 
be  true." 


200 


How  Nelson  Csiiiio  Home. 


^tWf 


Thru  ht  \\\\\\ck\  atul  walkcil  l>riskly  ;i\v;«y.  as  o\w  u\'\i\\\i 
who  luil  iMCssini;  husinrss.  »m  as  soltliiM.s  mari'lj  (nMu  ;\ 
coturado's  viravo  to  a  men  v  tuiu\  i^t  that  thov  Iiavo  for 
p-itttMi.  Init  that  ihcv  luwr  still  to  tir.ht. 

Aiici  tlus  was  the  wav  oU\  lunn  Nelson  eatne  lunne. 


i 

ii 


li!i 


CHAPTKR  XIV. 


OftARMIC'g   NRW    KIRTN. 


Thrf«ft  wan  mom  Irft  iti  llmt  ^rnvn  than  old  fnim  NoI« 

'roii'h  doad  Inxly.  It  m'rnu'il  to  tno  tluit  (irnrtno  Irft  purt, 
Ml  Irnst,  of  hh\  oU\  nr\t  ihriv,  with  liirt  tlrud  ft'iciul  niul 
coinnulr,  iu  (lni(|uirtrnMnlry  clnuvliy.inl,  1  waited  lon^ 
(or  (hp  «)M,  ("{Ut'IosJ,  i(M"UlrMHH|)iril  to  upprur,  Ixit  Iio  wjif* 
luvt  r  tli(>  Miimnju-jiun.  ThccliuiiKn  wuruwuiiiMtakablr,  but 
h.ird  to  d«"('m<\  1  hi  Hcrmrd  to  li.ivo  insolvid  lii;*  lilo  it>to 
ji  d<  rmito  jnnpoRo.  llo  w;im  hiudly  ro  comforlal)lf3  u  frl- 
low  to  Im'  with;  ho  iniulo  mc«  ivr\  vwm  luoro  Iiizy  und  um  • 
Irss  thiui  wart  my  wont;  Init  I  rmprrtrd  him  inorr,  nud 
likod  him  nono  the  hsM.  Aj»  u  lion  ho  Wiirt  notiiHU(.r.pr>«». 
Ho  wouUl  not  roar.  Tliirt  wjm  disjippointiiij^  to  mo,  and 
to  hirt  fiitiuht  find  mine,  who  had  hnm  wailiiij^  hirtr«'linn 
with  cM}jj»T  iX[)«'ctatioii  of  tiden  of  thrilling  und  blood- 
thirsty fulvi-nturi'. 

1 1  is  first  days  wcro  Bprnt  in  making  right,  or  us  nearly 
ripht  as  ho  could,  tho  brouk  that  drovo  him  to  tho  wrwt. 
His  old  firm  (and  I  havcliad  more  respect  for  tho  humanity 
of  hiwytMS  fvrr  sinrt')  behaved  rtNally  well.  They  proved 
tho  restoration  of  their  confidcnco  in  his  integrity  and 
ability  by  offering  him  u  place  in  tho  firm,  which,  how- 
ever, ho  would  not  accept.  Then,  when  he  felt  clean,  an 
ho  sai-l,  he  posted  off  home,  taking  mo  witii  him.  During 
the  railway  journey  of  four  hours  ho  haully  spok<;;  but 
when  wo  had  left  tho  town  behind,  and  had  fairly  got 
upon  tho  country  road  that  led  toward  the  home  ten  miles 
away,  his  speech  came  to  him  in  a  great  flow.     His  epirits 

801 


902 


Qraeme's  New  Birth. 


fh  '* 


ran  over.  He  was  like  a  boy  returning  from  hi^  rirst 
college  term.  His  very  face  wore  the  boy's  open,  mno- 
cent,  earnest  look  that  used  tc  attract  men  to  him  in  his 
first  college  year.  His  delight  in  the  fields  and  woods,  in 
the  sweet  country  air  and  sunlight,  was  without  bound. 
How  often  had  we  driven  this  road  together  in  the  old 
days! 

Every  turn  was  familiar.  The  swamp  where  the  tam- 
aracks stood  straight  and  slim  out  of  their  ^^eds  of  moss ; 
the  brule,  as  we  used  to  call  it,  where  the  pine  stumps, 
huge  and  blackened,  were  half  hidden  by  the  new  growth 
of  poplars  and  soft  maples;  the  big  hill,  where  we  used 
to  get  out  and  walk  when  the  roads  were  bad;  the  or- 
chards, where  the  harvest  apples  were  best  and  most  ac- 
cessible— all  had  their  memories. 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect  afternoons  that  so  often 
cume  in  the  early  Canadian  Summer,  before  Nature 
grows  weary  with  the  heat.  The  white  gravel  road  was 
trimmed  on  either  side  with  turf  of  living  green,  close 
cropped  by  the  sheep  that  wandered  in  flocks  along  its 
whole  length.  Beyond  the  picturesque  snake-fences 
stretched  the  fields  of  springing  grain,  of  varying  shades 
of  green,  with  here  and  there  a  dark  brown  patch,  mark- 
ing a  turnip  field  or  summer  fallow,  and  far  back  were 
the  woods  of  maple  and  beech  and  elm,  with  here  and 
there  the  tufted  top  of  a  mighty  pine,  the  lonely  repre- 
sentative of  a  vanished  race,  standing  clear  above  the 
humbler  trees. 

As  we  drove  through  .the  big  swamp,  where  the  yawn- 
ing, haunted  gully  plunges  down  to  its  gloomy  depths, 
Graeme  reminded  me  of  that  night  when  our  horse  saw 
soiiething  in  that  same  gully,  and  refused  to  go  past;  and 
I  «lt  again,  though  it  was  broad  daylight,  something  of 
the  finte  that  shivered  down  my  back,  as  I  saw  in  the 


Graeme's  New  Birth. 


203 


li^  rirst 
1,  inno- 
1  in  his 
Dods,  in 
bound, 
the  old 

he  tam- 
f  moss ; 
stumps, 
growth 
ve  used 
the  or- 
lost  ac- 

o  often 
Nature 
►ad  was 
dose 
ong  its 
-fences 
shades 

mark- 
<  were 
re  and 

repre- 
ive  the 

yawn- 
iepths, 
se  saw 
5t ;  and 
ing  of 
in  the 


moonlight  the  gltam  of  a  white  thing  far  through  the 
pine  trunks. 

As  we  came  nearer  home  the  houses  became  familiar. 
Every  house  had  its  tale;  we  had  eaten  or  slept  in  most 
of  them ;  we  had  sampled  apples,  and  cherries,  and  plums 
from  their  orchards,  openly  as  guests,  or  secretly  as 
marauders,  under  cover  of  night — the  more  delightful 
way,  I  fear.  Ah !  happy  days,  with  these  innocent  crimes 
and  fleeting  remorses,  how  bravely  we  faced  them,  and 
how  gayly  we  lived  them,  and  how  yearningly  we  look 
back  at  them  now!  The  sun  was  just  dipping  into  the 
tree-tops  of  the  distant  woods  behind  as  we  cam*^  to  the 
top  of  the  last  hill  that  overlooked  the  valley,  in  which  lay 
the  village  of  Riverdale.  Wooded  hills  stood  about  it  on 
three  sides,  and,  where  the  hills  faded  out,  there  lay  the 
millpond  sleeping  and  smiling  in  the  sun.  Through  the 
village  ran  the  white  road,  up  past  the  old  frame  church, 
and  ©n  to  the  white  manse  standing  among  the  trees. 
That  was  Graeme's  home,  and  mine,  too,  for  I  had  never 
known  another  worthy  of  the  name.  We  held  up  our 
team  to  look  down  over  the  valley,  with  its  rampart  of 
wooded  hills,  its  shining  pond,  and  its  nestling  village, 
and  on  past  to  the  church  and  the  white  manse,  hiding 
among  the  trees.  The  beauty,  the  peace,  the  warm,  lov- 
ing homeliness  of  the  scene  came  about  our  hearts,  but, 
being  men,  we  could  find  no  words. 

"Let's  go,"  cried  Graeme,  and  down  the  hilf  we  tore 
and  rock'^d  and  swayed,  to  the  amazement  of  the  steady 
team,  whose  education  from  the  earliest  years  had  im- 
pressed upon  their  minds  the  criminality  of  attempting  to 
do  anything  but  walk  carefully  down  a  hill,  at  least  for 
two-thirds  of  the  way.  Through  the  village,  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  we  swept,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  well-known  face 
here  and  there,  and  flinging  a  salutation  as  we  passed, 


Si 


704 


Graeme^s  New  Birth. 


leaving  the  owner  of  the  face  rooted  to  his  place  in  as- 
tonishment at  the  sight  of  Graeme  whirling  on  in  his  old- 
time,  well-known  reckless  manner.  Only  old  Dune.  Mc- 
Leod  was  equal  to  the  moment,  for  as  Graeme  called  out, 
"Hello,  Dune.  I"  the  old  man  lifted  up  his  hands,  and 
called  back  in  an  awed  voice :  "Bless  my  soul !  is  it  your- 
self?" 

"Stands  his  whisky  well,  poor  old  chap !"  was  Graeme's 
comment. 

As  we  neared  the  church  he  pulled  up  his  team,  and 
we  went  quietly  past  the  sleepers  there,  then  again  on 
the  full  run  down  the  gentle  slope,  over  the  little  brook 
ar*d  up  to  the  gate.  He  had  hardly  got  his  team  pulled 
up  before,  flinging  me  the  lines,  he  was  out  over  the 
wheel,  for,  coming  down  the  walk,  with  her  hands  lifted 
high,  was  a  dainty  little  lady,  with  the  face  of  an  angel. 
In  a  moment  Graeme  had  her  in  his  arms.  I  heard  the 
faint  cry,  "My  boy,  my  boy,"  and  got  down  on  the  other 
side  to  attend  to  my  off  horse,  surprised  to  find  my  hands 
trembling  and  my  eyes  full  of  tears.  Back  upon  the  steps 
stood  an  old  gentleman,  with  white  hair  and  flowing 
beard,  handsome,  straight  and  stately — Graeme's  father, 
waiting  his  turn. 

"Welcome  home,  my  lad,"  was  his  greeting,  as  he 
kissed  his  son,  and  the  tremor  of  his  voice,  and  the  sight 
of  the  two  men  kissing  each  other,  li':e  women,  sent  me 
again  to  my  horses'  heads. 

"There's  Connor,  mother!"  shouted  out  Graeme,  and 
the  dainty  little  lady,  in  her  black  silk  and  white  lace, 
came  out  to  me  quickly,  with  outstretched  hands. 

"You,  too,  are  welcome  home,"  she  said,  and  kissed 
me. 

I  stood  with  my  hat  off,  saying  something  about  being 
glad  to  come,  but  wishing  that  /  could  net  away  before  I 


e  in  as- 
his  olfl- 
nc.  Mc- 
lled  out, 
ds,  and 
it  your- 

rraeme's 

im,  and 
g^ain  on 
e  brook 
1  pulled 
►ver  the 
Is  lifted 
1  angel, 
■ard  the 
le  other 
y  hands 
le  steps 
flowing 
father, 

as  he 
le  sight 
ent  me 

le,  and 
e  lace, 

kissed 

:  being 
dove  I 


Graeme's  New  Birlh, 


205 


should  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself.  For  as  I  looked 
down  upon  that  beautiful  face,  pale,  except  for  a  faint 
flush  upon  each  faded  cheek,  and  read  the  story  of  pain 
endured  and  conquered,  and  as  I  thought  of  all  the  long 
years  of  waiting  and  of  vain  hoping,  I  found  my  throat 
dry  and  sore,  and  the  words  would  not  come.  But  her 
quick  sense  needed  no  words,  and  she  came  to  my  help. 

**You  will  find  Jack  at  the  stable,"  she  said,  smiling; 
"he  ought  to  have  been  here." 

The  stable!  Why  had  I  not  thought  of  that  before? 
Thankfully  now  my  words  came : 

"Yes,  certainly,  I'll  find  him,  Mrs.  Graeme.  I  suppose 
he's  as  much  of  a  scapegrace  as  ever,"  and  off  I  went  to 
look  up  Graeme's  young  brother,  who  had  giv^en  every 
promise  in  the  old  days  of  developing  into  as  stirring  a 
rascal  as  one  could  desire ;  but  who,  as  I  found  out  later, 
had  not  lived  these  years  in  his  mother's  home  for 
nothing. 

"Oh,  Jack's  a  good  boy,"  she  answered,  smiling  again, 
as  she  turned  toward  the  other  two,  now  waiting  for  her 
upon  the  walk. 

The  week  that  followed  was  a  happy  one  for  us  all ;  but 
for  the  mother  it  was  full  to  the  brim  with  joy.  Her  sweet 
face  was  full  of  content  and  in  her  eyes  rested  a  great 
peace.  Our  days  were  spent  driving  about  among  the  hills 
or  strolling  the  maple  woods,  or  down  into  the  tamarack 
swamp,  where  the  pitcher  plants  and  the  swamp  lilies 
and  the  marigold  waved  above  the  deep  moss.  In  the 
evenings  we  sat  under  the  trees  on  the  lawn  till  the  stars 
came  out  and  the  night  dews  drove  us  in.  Like  two  lovers, 
Graeme  and  his  mother  would  wander  off  together,  leav- 
ing  Jack  and  me  to  each  other.  Jack  was  reading  for 
divinity,  and  was  really  a  fine,  manly  fellow,  with  all  his 
brother's  turn  for  Rugby  and  I  took  to  him  amazingly; 


ao6 


Graeme's  New  Birth, 


I 


ii, 


I 


m.  '< 


but  after  the  day  was  over  we  would  gather  about  tht 
supper  table,  and  the  talk  would  be  of  all  things  under 
heaven — art,  football,  theology.  The  mother  would  lead 
in  all.  How  quick  she  was,  how  bright  her  fancy,  how 
subtle  her  intellect,  and  through  all  a  gentle  grace,  very 
winning  and  beautiful  to  see  1 

Do  ^^  hat  I  would,  Graeme  would  talk  little  of  the  moun- 
tains and  his  life  there. 

"My  lion  will  not  roar,  Mrs.  Graeme,"  I  complained; 
^'he  simply  will  not." 

"You  should  twist  his  tail,"  said  Jack. 

"That  seems  to  be  the  difficulty,  Jack  "  said  his  mother, 
"to  get  hold  of  his  tale." 

"Oh,  mother,"  groaned  Jack;  "you  never  did  such  a 
thing  before  I  How  could  you  ?  Is  it  this  baleful  Western 
influence  ?" 

"I  shall  reform,  Jack,"  she  replied,  brightly. 

"But,  seriously,  Graeme,"  I  remonstrated,  "you  ought 
to  tell  your  people  of  your  life — that  free,  glorious  life 
in  the  mountains." 

"Free!  Glorious!  To  some  men,  perhaps!"  said 
Graeme,  and  then  fell  into  silence. 

But  I  saw  Graeme  as  a  new  man  the  night  he  talked 
theology  with  his  father.  The  old  minister  was  a  splendid 
Calvinist,  of  heroic  type,  and  as  he  discoursed  of  God's 
sovereignty  and  election,  his  face  glowed  and  his  voice 
rang  out. 

Graeme  listened  intently,  now  and  then  putting  in  a 
question,  as  one  would  a  keen  knife-thrust  into  a  foe. 
But  the  old  man  knew  his  ground,  and  moved  easily 
among  his  ideas,  demolishing  the  enemy  as  he  appeared, 
with  jaunty  grace.  In  the  full  flow  of  his  triumphant  ar- 
gument, Graeme  turned  to  him  with  sudden  seriousness. 

*'Look  here,  father  t   I  was  born  a  Calvinist.  and  I  can't 


Grat^mt's  New  Birth. 


207 


DUt  tht 
under 
Id  lead 
y,  how 
;e,  very 

I  moun- 

tlained ; 


mother, 

such  a 
Vestern 


I  ought 
)us  life 

!"  said 

talked 
)lendid 
God*s 
voice 

in  a 

foe. 

easily 

|>t;<tred, 

mt  ar- 

isnees. 

can't 


see  how  any  one  with  a  level  head  can  hold  anything  else 
than  the  Almighty  had  some  idea  as  to  how  He  wants 
to  run  His  universe,  and  He  means  to  carry  out  His 
idea,  and  is  carrying  it  out ;  but  what  would  you  do  in  a 
case  like  this  ?"  Then  he  told  him  the  story  of  poor  Billy 
Breen,  his  fight  and  his  defeat. 

"Would  you  preach  election  to  that  chap?" 

The  mother's  eyes  were  shiniuj^^  with  tears. 

The  old  gentleman  blew  his  nose  like  a  trumpet,  and 
then  said,  gravely: 

"No,  my  boy,  you  don't  feed  babes  with  meat.  But 
what  came  to  him?" 

Then  Graeme  asked  me  to  finish  the  tale.  After  I 
had  finished  the  story  of  Billy's  final  triumph  and  of 
Craig's  part  in  it,  they  sat  long  silent,  till  the  minister, 
clearing  his  throat  hard  and  blowing  his  nose  more  like 
a  trumpet  than  ever,  said,  with  great  emphasis: 

"Thank  God  for  such  a  man  in  such  a  place!  I  wish 
there  were  more  of  us  like  him." 

"7  should  like  to  see  you  out  there,  sir,"  said  Graeme, 
adraiiringly ;  "you'd  get  them,  but  you  wouldn't  have  time 
for  election." 

"Yes,  yes  I"  said  his  father,  warmly ;  "I  should  love  to 
have  a  chance  just  to  preach  election  to  these  poor  lads. 
Would  I  were  twenty  years  younger!" 

"It  is  worth  a  man's  life,"  said  Graeme,  earnestly.  His 
younger  brother  turned  his  face  eagerly  toward  the 
mother.  For  answer  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his  and 
said  softly,  while  her  eyes  shone  like  stars : 

"Some  day.  Jack,  perhaps!  God  knows."  But  Jack 
only  looked  steadily  at  her,  smiling  a  little  and  patting 
horhand. 

"You'd  shine  there,  mother,"   said   Graeme,   Amiling 


SB 


'^1  ill  1 1 


2o8 


Graeme's  New  Birtli. 


upon  her ;  "you'd  better  come  with  me."  She  started,  and 
said,  faintly: 

"With  >  ou  ?"  It  was  the  first  hint  he  had  given  of  hi? 
purpose.    "You  are  going  back  ?" 

"What!  as  a  missionary?"  said  Jack. 

"Not  to  preach,  Jack;  I'm  not  orthodox  enough," 
looking  at  his  father  and  shaking  his  head ;  "but  to  build 
railroads  and  lend  a  hand  to  some  poor  chap,  if  I  can." 

"Could  you  not  find  work  nearer  home,  my  boy  ?"  asked 
the  father;  "there  is  plenty  of  both  kinds  near  us  here, 
surely." 

"Lots  of  work,  but  not  mine,  I  fear,"  answered  Graeme, 
keeping  his  eyes  away  from  his  mother's  face.  "A  man 
must  do  his  own  work." 

His  voice  was  quiet  and  resolute,  and  glancing  at  the 
beautiful  face  at  the  end  of  the  table,  I  saw  in  the  pale 
lips  and  yearning  eyes  that  the  mother  was  offering  up 
her  first-born,  that  ancient  sacrif  ce.  But  not  all  the 
agony  of  sacrifice  could  wring  from  her  entreaty  or  com- 
plaint in  the  hearing  of  her  sons.  That  was  for  other  ears 
and  for  the  silent  hours  of  the  night.  And  next  morning 
when  she  came  down  to  meet  us  her  face  was  wan  and 
weary,  but  it  wore  the  peace  of  victory  and  a  glory  not  of 
earth.  Her  greeting  was  full  of  dignity,  sweet  and  gen- 
tle ;  but  when  she  came  to  Graeme  she  lingered  over  him 
and  kissed  him  twice.  And  that  was  all  that  any  of  u? 
ever  saw  of  that  sore  fight. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  I  took  leave  of  them,  and  las 
of  all  of  the  mother. 

She  hesitated  just  a  moment,  then  suddenly  put  hei 
iiands  upon  my  shoulders  and  kissed  me,  saying  softly: 
"You  are  his  friend;  you  will  sometimes  come  to  me?" 

"Gladly,  if  I  may,"  I  hastened  to  answer,  for  thr  sweet, 


Graeme's  New  Birth. 


209 


ted,  and 
n  of  hi? 


nough/' 
to  build 
can." 
?"  asked 
us  here, 

Graeme, 
"A  man 

ig  at  the 

the  pale 

ering  up 

all  the 
or  com- 

ler  ears 
morning 
wan  and 
ry  not  of 
ind  gen- 
)ver  him 
ny  of  U9 

and  la9 

put  he  I 
softly: 
to  me?" 
r  "^weett 


brave  face  was  too  much  to  bear ;  and,  till  she  left  us  for 
that  world  of  which  she  was  a  part,  I  kept  my  word,  to 
my  own  great  and  lasting  good.  When  Graeme  met  me 
in  the  city  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  he  brought  me  her 
love,  and  then  burst  forth : 

"Connor,  do  you  know,  I  have  just  discovered  my 
mother  1    I  have  never  known  her  till  this  summer." 

"More  fool  you,"  I  answered,  for  often  had  I,  who  had 
.lever  known  a  mothe; ,  envied  him  his. 

"Yes,  that's  true,"  he  answered,  slowly ;  "but  you  can- 
not see  until  you  have  eyes." 

Btfore  he  set  out  again  for  the  West  I  gave  him  a  sup- 
per, asking  the  men  who  had  been  with  us  in  the  old 
'V^arsity  days.  I  was  doubtful  as  to  the  wisdom  of  this, 
and  was  persuaded  only  by  Graeme's  eager  assent  to  my 
proposal. 

"Certainly,  let's  have  them,"  he  said;  "I  shall  be 
awfully  glad  to  see  them ;  great  stuff  they  were." 

"But,  I  don't  know,  Graeme ;  you  see — well — hang  it  I 
— ^you  know — you're  dififerent,  you  know." 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"I  hope  I  can  still  stand  a  good  supper,  and  if  the 
boys  can't  s^and  me,  why,  T  can't  help  it.  I'll  do  any- 
thing but  roar,  and  don't  you  begin  to  work  off  your 
menagerie  act — now,  you  hear  me!" 

"Well,  it  is  rather  hard  lines  that  when  I  have  been 
stalking  up  my  lion  for  a  year,  and  then  finally  secure  him, 
that  he  will  not  roar." 

"Serve  you  right,"  he  replied,  quite  heartlessly;  "but 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  I'll  feed!  Don't  you  worry,"  he 
adds  soothingly ;  "the  supper  will  go." 

And  go  it  did.  The  supper  was  of  the  best ;  the  wines 
first-class.    I  had  asked  Graeme  about  the  wines. 


I' 


:j 


«    ,u 


I 


2IO 


Graeme^s  New  Birtli. 


"Do  as  you  like,  old  man,"  was  his  answer;  *its  your 
supper,  but,"  he  added,  "are  the  m^^i  all  straight?" 

I  ran  them  over  in  my  mind. 

"Yes;  I  think  so." 

"If  not,  don't  you  help  them  down ;  and  anyway,  yon 
can't  be  too  careful.  But  don't  mind  me ;  I  am  quit  oi  the 
whole  business  from  this  out."  So  I  ventured  wines,  for 
the  last  time,  as  it  happened. 

We  were  a  quaint  combination.  Old  "Beetles,"  whose 
nickname  was  prophetic  of  his  future  fame  as  a  bugman, 
as  the  fellows  irreverently  said ;  "Stumpy"  Smith,  a 
demon  bowler;  Polly  Lindsay,  slow  as  ever  and  as  sure 
as  when  he  held  the  half  back  line  with  Graeme,  and  used 
to  make  my  heart  stand  still  with  terror  at  his  cool  delib- 
eration. But  he  was  neyer  known  to  fumble  nor  to 
funk,  and  somehow  he  alwciys  got  us  out  safe  enough. 
Then  there  was  Rattray — "Rat"  for  short — who,  from  a 
swell,  had  developed  into  a  cynic  with  a  sneer,  awfully 
clever  and  a  good  enough  fellow  at  heart.  Little  "Wig" 
Martin,  the  sharpest  quarter  ever  seen,  and  big  Barney 
Lundy,  centre  scrimmage,  whose  terrific  roar  and  rush 
had  often  struck  terror  to  the  enemy's  heart,  and  who 
was  Graeme's  slave.    Such  was  the  party. 

As  the  supper  went  on  my  fears  began  to  vanish,  for 
if  Graeme  did  not  "roar,"  he  did  the  next  best  thing — 
ate  and  talked  quite  up  to  his  old  form.  Now  we  played 
our  matches  over  again,  bitterly  lamenting  the  "ifs"  that 
had  lost  us  the  championships,  and  wildly  approving  the 
tackles  that  had  saved,  and  the  runs  that  had  made  the 
'Varsity  crowd  go  mad  with  delight  and  had  won  imr  us. 
And  as  their  names  came  up  in  talk,  we  learned  h«w  life 
had  gan€  with  tUoss  who  had  be«iu  our  comrades  of  ten 
years  ago.     Some,  success  had  lifted  to  high  ]^laces; 


ir: 


Graeme's  New  Birth, 


axi 


t's  your 


vay,  yoti 
lit  ot  the 
rines,  for 

,"  whose 
bugman, 
Smith,  a 
1  as  sure 
and  used 
jol  delib- 
B  nor  to 

enough. 

),  from  a 

,  awfully 

e  "Wig" 
Barney 
and  rush 
and  who 

inish,  for 
thing— 
^c  played 
hfs"  that 
^ving  the 
lade  the 
[n  f«r  us. 
hew  life 
»s  of  ten 
places; 


some,  failure  had  left  upon  the  rocks,  and  a  few  lay  in 
their  graves. 

But  as  the  evening  wore  on,  I  began  to  wish  that  I  had 
left  out  the  wines,  for  the  men  began  to  drop  an  occa- 
sional oath,  though  I  had  let  them  know  during  the 
summer  that  Graeme  was  not  the  man  he  had  been.  But 
Graeme  smoked  and  talked  and  heeded  not,  till  Rattray 
swore  by  that  name  most  sacred  of  all  ever  borne  by  man. 
Then  Graeme  opened  upon  him  in  a  cool,  slow  way: 

vVhat  an  awful  fool  a  man  is,  to  damn  things  as  you 
do,  Rat.  Tilings  are  not  damned.  It  is  men  who  are; 
and  that  is  tco  bad  to  be  talked  much  about.  But  when 
a  man  flings  out  of  liis  foul  mouth  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ" — here  he  lowered  his  voice — "it's  a  shame— it's 
more,  it's  a  crime." 

There  was  dead  silence,  then  Rattray  replied : 

"I  suppose  you're  right  enough,  it  i.s  bad  form;  but 
crime  is  rather  strong,  I  think." 

"Not  if  you  consider  who  it  is,'*  said  Graeme  with 
emphasis. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  broke  in  Beetles.  "Religion  is  all 
right,  is  a  good  thing,  and  I  believe  a  necessary  thing  for 
tl'.e  race,  but  no  one  takes  seriously  any  longer  the  Christ 
jijyth  " 

"What  about  your  mother.  Beetles?"  put  in  Wig 
Martin. 

Beetles  consigned  him  to  the  pit  and  was  silent,  for  his 
father  was  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  and  his  mother  a 
saintly  woman. 

"I  fooled  with  that  for  some  time,  Beetles,  but  it  won't 
do.  You  can't  build  a  religion  that  will  take  the  devil 
out  of  a  man  on  a  myth.  That  won't  do  the  trick.  ^ 
don't  want  to  are:ue  about  it,  but  I  am  quite  convince*. 


i! 


m 


axa 


Graeme's  New  Birth. 


the  myth  theory  is  not  reasonable,  and  besides,  it  won't 
work." 

"Will  the  other  work  ?"  asked  Rattray,  with  a  sneer. 

"Sure  I"  said  Graeme,  "I've  seen  it." 

"Where?"  challenged  Rattray.  *'I  haven't  seen  much 
of  it." 

"Yes,  you  have  Rattray,  you  know  you  have,"  said 
Wig  again.    But  Rattray  ignored  him. 

"I'll  tell  you  boys,"  said  Graeme.  "I  want  you  to 
know,  anyway,  why  I  believe  what  I  do." 

Then  he  told  them  the  story  of  old  man  Nelson,  from 
the  old  coast  days,  before  I  knew  him,  to  the  end.  He 
told  the  story  well.  The  stern  fight  and  the  victory  of  the 
life,  and  the  self-secrifice  and  the  pathos  of  the  death  ap- 
pealed to  these  men,  who  loved  fight  and  could  under- 
stand sacrifice. 

"That's  why  I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  that's  why 
I  think  it  a  crime  to  fling  his  name  about !" 

*I  wish  to  Heaven  I  could  say  that,"  said  Beetles. 
'Keep  wishing  hard  enough  and  it  will  come  to  you.*' 
said  Graeme. 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  said  Rattray;  "you're  quite 
right  about  this;  I'm  willing  to  own  up.  Wig  is  correct. 
I  know  a  few,  at  least,  of  that  stamp,  but  most  of  those 
who  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing  are  not  much  account." 

*'For  ten  years,  Rattray  "  said  Graeme  in  a  downright, 
matter-of-fact  way,  "you  and  I  have  tried  this  sort  o\ 
thing" — ^tapping  a  bottle — "and  we  got  out  of  it  all  there 
is  to  be  got,  paid  well  for  it,  too,  and — faugh !  you  know 
it's  not  good  enough,  and  the  more  you  go  in  for  it,  the 
more  you  curse  yourself.  So  I  have  quit  this  and  I  am 
going  in  for  the  other." 

'What !  going  in  for  preaching?" 


«i 


<(i 


«n 


Graeme's  New  Birth. 


ax?. 


won't 
cer. 
1  much 


>t 


said 


you   to 

►n,  from 
id.  He 
•y  of  the 
eath  ap- 
1  under- 

at's  why 

etles. 
to  you.*' 

re  quite 
correct 
of  those 
iccount." 
)wnright, 
s  sort  ol 
all  there 
ou  know 
or  it,  the 
nd  I  am 


"Not  much — railroading — money  in  it — and  lending  a 
hand  to  fellows  on  the  rocks." 

"I  say,  don't  you  want  a  centre  forward?"  said  big 
Barney  in  his  deep  voice. 

"Every  man  must  play  his  game  in  hir.  place,  old  chap. 
I'd  like  to  see  you  tackle  it,  though,  right  well,"  said 
Graeme  earnestly.  And  so  he  did,  in  the  after  years,  and 
good  tackling  it  was.    But  that  is  another  story. 

"But,  I  say  Graeme,"  persisted  Beetles,  "about  this 
business,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  go  the  whole  thing — 
Jonah,  you  know,  and  the  rest  of  it?" 

Graeme  hesitated,  then  said: 

"I  haven't  much  of  a  creed.  Beetles ;  don't  really  know 
how  much  I  believe.  But,"  by  this  time  he  was  standing, 
"I  do  know  that  good  is  good,  and  bad  is  bad,  and  good 
and  bad  are  not  the  same.  And  I  know  a  man's  a  fool  to 
follow  the  one,  and  a  wise  man  to  follow  the  other,  and," 
lowering  his  voice,  "I  believe  God  is  at  the  back  of  a 
man  who  wants  to  get  done  with  bad.  I've  tried  all  that 
folly,"  sweeping  his  hand  over  the  glasses  and  bottles, 
**and  all  that  goes  with  it,  and  I've  done  with  it." 

"I'll  go  you  that  far,"  roared  big  Barney,  following  his 
old  captain  as  of  yore. 

"Good  man,"  said  Graeme,  striking  hands  with  him. 

"Put  me  down,"  said  little  Wig,  cheerfully. 

Then  I  took  up  the  word,  for  there  rose  before  me  the 
scene  in  the  League  saloon,  and  I  saw  the  beautiful  face, 
with  the  deep,  shining  eyes,  and  I  was  speaking  for  her 
again.  I  told  them  of  Craig  and  his  fight  for  these  men's 
lives.  I  told  them,  too,  of  how  I  had  been  too  indolent  to 
begin.  "But,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  this  far  from  to-night," 
and  I  swept  the  bottles  into  the  champagne  tub. 

"I  say,*'  said  Polly  Lindsay,  coming  up  in  his  old  style, 
slow  but  sure,  "let's  all  go  in,  say  for  five  years."    And  so 


aT4 


Coming  to  Tlielr  Own. 


mm 


we  (lid.  We  didn't  sign  anything,  but  every  man  shook 
hands  with  Graeme. 

And,  as  I  told  Craig  about  this  a  year  later,  when  he 
was  on  his  way  back  from  his  Old  Land  trip  to  join 
Graeme  in  the  mountains,  he  threw  up  his  head  in  the  old 
way  and  said:  "It  was  well  done.  It  must  have  been 
worth  seeing.  Old  man  Nelson's  work  is  not  done  yet. 
Tell  me  again,"  and  he  made  me  go  over  the  whole  scene, 
with  all  the  details  put  in. 

But  when  I  told  Mrs.  Mavor,  after  two  year§  had 
gone,  she  only  said:  "Old  things  are  passed  away,  all 
things  arc  become  new ;"  but  the  light  glowed  in  her  eyes 
till  I  could  not  see  their  color.  But  all  that,  too,  is  another 
story. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


COMING      TO      THEIR      OWN. 


A  man  with  a  conscience  is  often  provoking,  sometimes 
impossible.  Persuasion  is  lost  upon  him.  He  will  not  get 
angry,  and  he  looks  at  one  with  such  a  far-away  expres- 
sion in  his  face  that  in  striving  to  persuade  him  one  feels 
earthly  and  even  fiendish.  At  least  this  was  my  experience 
with  Craig.  He  spent  a  week  with  me  just  before  he 
sailed  for  the  Old  Land,  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said,  of 
getting  some  of  the  coal  dust  and  other  grime  out  of  iiim. 

He  made  me  angry  the  last  night  of  his  stay,  and  all 
the  more  that  he  remained  quite  sweetly  unmoved.  It  was 
a  strategic  mistake  of  mine  to  tell  him  how  Nelson  came 
home  to  us,  and  how  Graeme  stood  up  before  the  'Varcity 
chaps  at  my  supper  and  made  his  confession  and  confused 
Rattray's  easy-stepping  profanity,  and  started  his  own 
five-year  icaguCc    For  all  this  stirred  in  Craig  the  hero, 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


and  he  was  ready  for  all  sorfs  of  heroic  nonsense,  as  I 
called  It.    We  talked  of  everything,  hut  the  one  thing  and 
about  that  we  said  not  a  word  till,  bending  low  to  poke  my 
fire  and  to  hide  my  face,  I  plunged; 
"You  will  see  her,  of  course?" 

He  made  no  pretence  of  not  understanding,  but 
answered : 

"Of  course." 

"There  is  really  ni  sense  in  her  staying  over  there  "  I 
suggested.  ' 

"And  yet  she  is  a  wise  woman,"  he  said,  as  if  carefully 
considering  the  question. 

"Heaps  of  landlords  never  see  their  tenants,  and  they 
are  none  the  worse." 

"The  landlords?" 

"No,  the  tenants." 

"Probably,  having  such  landlords." 

"And  as  for  the  old  lady,  there  must  be  some  one  in  the 
connection  to  whom  it  would  be  a  Godsend  to  care  for 
her." 

"Now,  Connor,"  he  said  quietly,  "don't.  We  have  gone 
over  all  there  is  to  be  said.  Nothing  new  has  come.  Don't 
turn  it  all  up  again." 

Then  I  played  the  heathen  and  raged,  as  Graeme  -'oukl 
have  said,  till  Craig  smiled  a  little  wearily  and  said : 

"Yot.  exhaust  yourself,  old  chap.  Have  a  pipe,  do;" 
and  after  a  pause  he  added  in  his  own  way,  "What  would 
you  have?  The  path  lies  straight  from  my  feet.  Should 
I  quit  it  ?  I  could  not  so  disappoint  you— and  all  of 
them." 

And  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  Graeme  and  the  lads  in 
the  mountains  he  had  taught  to  be  true  men.  It  did  not 
fielp  my  rage,  but  it  checked  my  speech;  so  I  smoked  in 
silence  till  he  was  moved  to  say ; 


az6 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


:'    f 


I 


liii-  ■ 


"And  after  all,  you  know,  old  chap,  there  are  great 
compensations  for  all  losses;  but  for  the  loss  of  a  good 
conscience  toward  God,  what  can  make  up  ?** 

But,  all  the  same,  I  hoped  for  some  better  result  from 
his  visit  to  Britain.  It  seemed  to  me  that  something  must 
turn  up  to  change  such  an  unbearable  situation. 

The  year  passed,  however,  and  when  I  looked  into 
Craig's  face  again  I  knew  that  nothing  had  been  changed, 
and  that  he  had  come  back  to  take  up  again  his  life  alone, 
more  resolutely  hopeful  than  ever. 

But  the  year  had  left  its  mark  upon  him,  too.  He  was 
a  broader  and  deeper  man.  He  had  been  living  and  think- 
ing with  men  of  larger  ideas  and  richer  culture,  and  he 
was  far  too  quick  in  sympathy  with  life  to  remain  un- 
touched by  his  surroundings.  He  was  more  tolerant  of 
opinions  other  than  hir  own,  but  more  unrelenting  in  his 
fidelity  to  conscience,  and  more  impatient  of  half-hearted- 
ness  and  self-indulgence.  He  was  full  of  reverence  for 
the  great  scholars  and  the  great  leaders  of  men  he  had 
come  to  know. 

"Great,  noble  fellows  they  are, '  and  extraordinarily 
modest,**  he  said — "that  is,  the  really  great  are  modest. 
There  are  plenty  of  the  other  sort,  neither  great  nor 
modest.  And  the  books  to  be  read  1  I  am  quite  hopeless 
about  my  reading.  It  gave  me  a  queer  sensation  to  shake 
hands  with  a  man  who  had  written  a  great  book.  To  hear 
him  make  commonplace  remarks,  to  witness  a  faltering  in 
knowledge— one  expects  these  men  to  know  everything— ' 
and  to  experience  respectful  kindness  at  his  hands  !'* 

"What  of  the  younger  men  ?"  I  asked. 

"Bright,  keen,  generous  fellows.  In  things  theoretical, 
•mniscient;  but  in  things  practical,  quite  helpless.  They 
toss  about  great  ideas  as  the  miners  lumps  of  coal.  They 
can  call  them  by  their  book  names  easily  enough,  but  I 


■!h 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


ai7 


often  wondered  whether  they  could  put  them  into  Eng- 
hsh.  Some  of  them  I  coveted  for  the  mountains.  Men 
with  clear  heads  and  big  hearts,  and  built  after  Sandy 
McNaughtons  model.  It  does  seem  a  sinful  waste  of 
God's  good  human  stuff  to  see  these  fellows  potter  away 
their  lives  among  theories  living  and  dead,  and  end 
up  by  producing  a  book  I  They  are  all  either  making  or 
going  to  make  a  book.  A  good  thing  we  haven't 
to  read  them.  But  here  and  there  among  them  is  some 
quiet  chap  who  will  make  a  book  that  men  will  tumble 
over  each  other  to  read." 

Then  we  paused  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"Well  ?"  I  said.    He  understood  me. 

"Yes  I"  he  answered  slowly,  "doing  great  work.  Every 
one  worships  her  just  as  we  do,  and  she  is  making  them 
all  do  something  worth  while,  as  she  used  to  make  us." 

He  spoke  cheerfully  and  readily  as  i*  he  were  repeating 
a  lesson  well  learned,  but  he  could  not  humbug  me.  I  felt 
th^  heartache  in  the  cheerful  tone. 

"Tell  me  about  her,"  I  said,  for  I  knew  that  if  he  woulc 
talk  it  would  do  him  good.  And  talk  he  did.  often  for- 
getting me,  till,  as  I  listened,  I  found  myself  looking  again 
into  the  fathomless  eyes,  and  hearing  again  the  heart- 
searching  voice.  I  saw  her  go  in  and  out  of  the  little  red- 
tiled  cottages  and  down  the  narrow  back  lanes  of  the  vil- 
lage ;  I  heard  her  voice  in  a  sweet,  low  song  by  the  bed  of  a 
dying  child,  or  pouring  forth  floods  of  music  in  the  great 
new  hall  of  the  factory  town  near  by.  But  I  could  not 
see,  though  he  tried  to  show  me,  the  statelv  gracious  lady 
receiving  the  country  folk  in  her  home.  He  did  not 
linger  over  that  scene,  but  went  back  again  to  the  gate- 
cottage  v/here  she  had  taken  him  one  day  to  see  Billy 
Brcen's  mother. 

"I  found  the  old  woman  knew  all  about  me/'  he  said» 


h ... 


%l-^ 


2l8 


Coming  tc  Their  Own. 


simply  enough ;  "but  there  were  many  things  about  Billy 
she  had  never  heard,  and  I  was  glad  to  put  her  right  on 
some  points,  though  Mrs.  Mavor  would  not  hear  it." 

He  sat  silent  for  a  little,  looking  into  the  coals,  then 
went  on  in  a  soft,  quiet  voice: 

"It  brought  back  the  mountains  and  the  old  days  to 
hear  again  Billy's  tone  in  his  mother's  voice,  and  to  see  her 
sitting  there  in  the  very  dress  she  wore  the  night  of  the 
League,  you  remember — some  soft  stuff  with  black  lace 
about  it — ^and  to  hear  her  sing  as  she  did  for  Billy — ah  I 
ah  I"  His  voice  unexpectedly  broke,  but  in  a  moment  he 
was  master  of  himself  and  begged  nic  to  forgive  his  weak- 
ness. I  am  afraid  I  said  words  that  should  not  be  said  — 
a  thing  I  never  do,  except  when  suddenly  and  utterly 
upset. 

"I  am  getting  selfish  and  weak,"  he  said ;  "I  must  get 
o  work.  I  am  glad  to  get  to  work.  There  is  much  to 
do,  and  it  is  worth  while,  if  dnly  to  keep  one  from  get- 
ting useless  and  lazy." 

"Useless  and  lazy ! '  I  said  to  myself,  thinking  of  my 
life  beside  his,  and  trying  to  get  command  of  my  voice, 
so  as  not  to  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself.  And  for  many 
a  day  those  words  goaded  me  to  work  and  to  the  exercise 
of  some  mild  self-denial.  But  more  than  all  else,  after 
Craig  had  gone  back  to  the  mountams,  Graeme's  letter' 
from  the  railway  construction  camp  stirred  one  to  do  un 
pleasant  dnty  long  postponed,  and  rendered  uncomfortu 
ble  my  hours  of  most  luxurious  ease.  Many  of  the  oW 
gang  were  with  him,  both  of  lumbermen  and  miners,  ant*. 
Craig  was  their  minister.  And  the  letters  told  of  how 
he  labored  by  day  and  by  night  along  the  line  of  con- 
struction, carrying  his  tent  and  kit  with  him,  preach*J!g 
straight  sermons,  watching  by  sick  men,  writing  tUeif 
letters,  and  winning  their  hearts,  making  strong  t)<^ 


vm 


Comiug  to  Their  Own. 


219 


then 


^ 


fives,  and  helping  them  to  die  well  when  their  hour  came. 
One  day  these  letters  proved  too  much  for  me,  and  I 
packed  away  iny  paints  and  brushes,  and  made  my  vow 
unto  the  Lord  that  I  v/ould  be  "useless  and  lazy"  no 
longer,  but  would  do  something  with  myself.  In  conse- 
quence, I  found  myself  within  three  weeks  walking  the 
London  hospitals,  finishing  my  course,  that  I  might  join 
that  band  of  men  who  were  doing  something  with  life, 
or,  if  throwing  it  away,  were  not  losing  it  for  nothing. 
I  had  finished  being  a  fool,  I  hoped,  at  least  a  fool  of  the 
useless  and  luxurious  kind.  The  letter  that  came  from 
Graeme  in  reply  to  my  reque?^^  for  a  position  on  his  staff 
was  characteristic  of  the  man,  both  new  and  old,  full 
of  gayest  humor  and  of  most  earnest  welcome  to  the 
work. 

Mrs.  Mavor's  reply  was  like  herself: 

"I  knew  you  would  not  long  be  content  with  the  mak- 
ing of  pictures,  which  the  world  does  not  really  need, 
and  would  join  your  friends  in  the  dear  West,  making 
lives  that  the  world  needs  so  sorely." 

But  her  last  words  touched  me  strangely: 

"But  be  sure  to  be  thankful  every  day  for  your  privi- 
lege. *  *  *  j^  ^iu  \^Q  good  to  think  of  you  all,  with 
the  glorious  mountains  about  you,  and  Christ's  own  work 
in  your  hands.  *  *  *  Ah!  how  we  would  like  to 
choose  our  work  and  the  place  in  which  to  do  it !" 

The  longing  did  not  appear  in  the  words,  but  I  needed 
no  words  to  tell  me  how  deep  and  how  constant  it  was» 
And  I  take  some  credit  to  myself  that  in  my  reply  I  gave 
her  no  bidding  to  join  our  band,  but  rather  praised  the 
work  she  was  doing  in  her  place,  telling  her  how  I  had 
heard  of  it  from  Craig. 

The  summer  found  me  religiously  doing  Paris  and 
Vienna,  gaining  a  more  perfect  acquaintance  with  the  C3C^ 


hH 


220 


*i'i 


!r' 


l'^'' 


4W^ 


hi!: 


I 


Coniiug  to  Their  Own. 


tent  and  variety  of  my  own  ignorance,  and  so  fully  oc- 
cupied in  this  interesting  and  wliolesomc  occupation  that 
I  fell  out  with  all  my  correspondents,  with  the  result  of 
weeks  of  silence  between  us. 

Two  letters  among  the  heap  waiting  on  my  table  in 
Lonilon  made  my  heart  beat  (piick,  but  with  how  diiTerent 
feelings — one  from  Graeme,  telling  me  that  Craig  had 
been  very  ill,  and  that  he  was  to  take  him  home  as  soon 
as  he  could  be  moved.  l\Irs.  Mavor's  letter  told  me  of 
the  death  of  the  old  lady,  who  had  been  her  care  for  the 
past  two  years,  and  of  her  intention  to  spend  some 
months  in  her  old  home  in  Edinburgh.  And  this  letter 
it  is  that  accounts  for  my  presence  in  a  miserable,  dingy, 
dirty  little  hall  running  off  a  close  in  the  historic  Cow- 
gate,  redolent  of  the  glories  of  the  splendid  past  and  of 
the  various  odors  of  the  evil-smelling  present.  I  was 
here  to  hear  Mrs.  Mavor  sing  to  the  crowd  of  gamins 
that  thronged  the  closes  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that 
had  been  gathered  into  a  club  by  "a  fine  Icddie  frae  the 
West  End,"  for  the  love  of  Christ  and  His  lost.  This 
was  an  "At  Home"  night,  and  the  mothers  and  fathers, 
sisters  and  brothers,  of  all  ages  and  sizes,  were  present. 
Of  all  the  sad  faces  I  had  ever  seen,  those  mothers  car- 
ried the  saddest  and  most  woe-stricken.  "Heaven  pity 
us!"  I  found  mvself  saying;  "is  this  the  beautiful,  the 
cultured,  the  heaven-exalted  city  of  Edinburgh?  Will 
it  not,  for  this,  be  cast  down  into  hell  some  day,  if  it  re- 
pent not  of  its  closes  and  their  dens  of  defilement?  Oh! 
the  utter  weariness,  the  dazed  hopelessness  of  the  ghast- 
ly faces !  Do  not  the  kindly,  gentle  church-going  folk  of 
the  crescents  and  the  gardens  see  them  in  their  dreams, 
or  are  their  dreams  too  heavenly  for  these  ghastly  faces 
to  appear?" 

I  cannot  recall  the  progr^mmg  of  the  evening,  but  in  my 


■} 


i 


S'l.  i. 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


221 


my 


memory-gallery  is  «  vivid  picture  of  that  fao.  iwtui  '»ad, 
beautiful,  alight  with  the  deep  glow  of  hei  eyes,  as  she 
stood  and  sang  to  that  dingy  crowd.  As  I  *at  upon  the 
window-ledge  listening  to  the  voice  with  its  ilowing  song, 
my  thoughts  were  far  away,  and  I  was  looki/ig  down  once 
more  upon  the  cagor,  coal-grinicd  faces  in  die  rude  little 
church  in  Black  Rock.  I  was  brought  batk  to  find  my- 
self swallowitig  hard  by  an  audible  whisper  from  a  wee 
lassie  to  her  mother; 
"Mither!  See  till  yon  man.  He's  greetlnV* 
When  I  came  to  myself  she  was  singing  "The  Land  o' 
the  Leal,"  the  Scotch  "Jerusalem  the  Golden,"  immortal, 
perfect.  It  needed  experience  of  the  hunger-haunted 
Cowgate  closes,  chill  with  the  black  mist  of  an  eastern 
haar,  to  feel  the  full  bliss  of  the  vision  in  the  words : 

"Theie''>  nae  sorrow  Uicre,  Jean, 
There*?  neither  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  day  is  aye  fair  in 
The  Land  o'  the  Leal." 

A  land  of  fair,  warm  days,  untouched  by  sorrow  and  care, 
would  be  heaven  indeed  to  the  dwellers  of  the  Cowgate. 

The  rest  of  that  evening  is  hazy  enough  to  me  now,  till 
I  find  myself  opposite  Mrs.  Mavor  at  her  fire,  reading 
Graeme's  letter;  then  all  is  vivid  again. 

I  could  not  keep  the  truth  from  her.  I  knew  it  would 
be  folly  to  try.  So  I  read  straight  on  till  I  came  to  the 
worls : 

"He  has  had  mountain  fever,  whatever  that  may  be, 
and  he  will  not  pull  up  again.    If  I  can,  I  shall  take  him 

home  to  my  mother" when  she  suddenly  stretched  out 

her  hand,  saying:  "Oh,  let  me  read!"  and  I  gave  her  the 
letter.  In  a  minute  she  had  read  it,  and  begp  ,  almost 
breathl«ssly : 

"U§teii !  my  life  is  much  changed.    My  mother-in-law 


pi 


It 


822 


Coming  to  Their  Own, 


is  gone ;  clie  needs  me  no  longer.  My  solicitor  tells  me, 
too,  that,  owing  to  unfortunate  investments,  there  is  need 
of  money,  so  great  need  that  it  is  possible  that  either  the 
estates  or  the  works  must  go.  My  cousin  has  his  all  in 
the  works — iron  works,  you  know.  It  would  be  wrong 
to  have  him  suffer.  I  shall  give  up  the  estates — that  is 
best."    Slie  paused. 

"And  conic  with  me,"  I  cried. 

"When  do  you  sail?" 

"Next  Week/'  I  answered,  eagerly. 

She  looked  at  me  a  few  moments,  and  into  her  eyes 
there  came  a  light  soft  and  tender,  as  she  said : 

"I  shall  go  with  you.*' 

And  so  she  did;  and  no  old  Roman  in  all  the  glory  of  a 
Triumph  carried  a  prouder  heart  than  I,  as  I  bore  her  and 
her  little  one  from  the  train  to  Graeme's  carriage,  crying: 

"I've  got  her." 

But  his  was  the  better  sense,  for  he  stood  waving  his 
hat  and  shouting : 

"He's  all  tight,"  at  which  Mrs,  Mavor  grew  white ;  but 
when  she  shook  hands  with  him,  the  red  was  in  her  cheek 
again. 

"It  was  the  cable  did  it,"  went  on  Graeme.  "Connor's 
a  great  doctor!  His  first  case  will  make  him  famous. 
Good  prescription — after  mountain  fever  try  a  cable- 
gram!" And  the  red  grew  deeper  in  the  beautiful  face 
beside  us. 

Never  did  the  country  look  so  lovely.  The  woods  were 
in  their  gayest  autumn  dress;  the  brown  fields  were 
bathed  in  a  purple  haze ;  the  air  was  sweet  and  fresh,  with 
a  suspicion  of  the  coming  frosts  of  winter.  But,  in  spite 
of  all,  the  road  seemed  long,  and  it  was  as  if  hours  had 
gone  before  our  eyes  fell  upon  the  white  manse  standing 
among  the  golden  leaves. 


ells  me, 
is  need 
ther  the 
is  all  in 
;  wrong 
-that  is 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


323 


[er  eyes 

Dry  of  a 
her  and 
crying : 

ring  his 

ite ;  but 
r  cheek 

onnor's 

'amous. 

cable- 

•ul  face 

Is  were 
)  were 
h,  with 
n  spite 
irs  had 
anding 


i 


. 


•Let  them  go,"  I  cried,  as  Graeme  paused  to  take  in 
the  view,  and  down  the  sloping  dusty  road  we  flew  on 
the  dead  run. 

''Reminds  one  a  little  of  Abe's  curves,"  said  Graeme,  as 
we  drew  up  at  the  gate.  But  I  answered  him  not,  for  I 
was  introducing  to  each  other  the  two  best  women  in  the 
world.  As  I  was  about  to  rush  into  the  house,  Graeme 
seized  me  by  the  collar,  saying: 

"Hold  on,  Connor !  you  forget  your  place ;  you're  next." 

"Why,  certainly,"  I  cried,  thankfullv  enough;  "what 
an  ass  I  ami" 

"Quite  true,"  said  Graeme,  solemnly. 

"Where  is  he?"  I  asked. 

"At  this  present  moment?"  he  asked,  in  a  shocked  voice. 
"Why,  Connor,  you  surprise  me." 

"Oh,  I  see !" 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  gravely ;  "you  may  trust  my  mother 
to  be  discreetly  attending  to  her  domestic  duties ;  she  is  a 
great  woman,  my  mother." 

I  had  no  doubt  of  it,  for  at  that  moment  she  came  out 
to  us  with  little  Marjorie  in  her  arms. 

**You  have  shown  Mrs.  Mavor  to  her  room,  mother,  I 
hope,"  said  Graeme;  but  she  only  smiled  and  said: 

"Ptm  away  with  your  horses,  you  silly  boy,"  at  which 
he  solemnly  shook  his  head.  "Ah,  moth'^,  you  are  deep— 
who  would  have  thought  it  of  you  ?" 

That  evening  the  manse  overflowed  with  joy,  and  the 
days  that  followed  were  like  dreams  set  to  sweet  music. 

But  for  sheer  wild  delight,  nothing  in  my  memory  can 
quite  come  up  to  the  demonstration  organized  by  Graeme, 
witk  assistance  from  Nixon,  Shaw,  Sandy,  Abe,  Geordie 
and  Baptiste,  in  honor  of  the  arrival  in  camp  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Craig.  And,  in  my  opinion,  it  added  something  to 
the  occasioii  that,  after  all  the  cheers  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


224 


Coming  to  Their  Own. 


¥ 


i 


Q.v^  had  died  away,  and  after  all  the  hats  had  come 
dr/^n,  Baptiste,  who  had  never  taken  his  eyes  from  that 
ridiant  face,  should  suddenly  have  swept  the  crowd  into 
'I  perfect  storm  of  cheers  by  excitedly  seizing  his  tuque, 
ind  calling  out  in  a  shrill  voice: 

"By  gar!    Tree  cheer  for  Mrs.  Mavor." 

And  for  many  a  day  the  men  of  Black  Rock  would 
easily  fall  into  the  old  and  wcll-lovcd  name;  but  up  and 
clown  the  line  of  construction,  in  all  the  camps  beyond  the 
Great  Divide,  the  new  name  became  as  dear  as  the  old  had 
ever  been  in  Black  Rock. 

Those  old  wild  days  are  long  since  gone  into  the  dim 
distance  of  the  past.  They  will  not  come  again,  for  we 
have  fallen  into  quiet  times ;  but  often  in  my  quietest  hours 
I  feel  my  heart  pause  in  its  beat  to  hear  again  that  strong, 
clear  voice,  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  bidding  us  to  be 
men  ;  and  I  think  of  them  all — Graeme,  their  chief ;  Sandy, 
Baptiste,  Geordie,  Abe,  the  Campbells,  Nixon,  Shaw,  all 
stronger,  better  for  their  knowing  of  him,  and  then  I  think 
of  Billy  asleep  under  the  pines,  and  of  old  man  Nelson, 
with  the  long  grass  waving  over  him  in  the  quiet  church- 
yard, and  all  my  nonsense  leaves  me,  and  I  bless  tho  Lord 
for  all  His  benefits,  but  chiefly  for  the  day  I  met  the  mis- 
Bionary  of  Black  Rock  in  the  lumber  camp  among  the 
Selkirks. 


THE  END. 


m 


lad  come 
rom  that 
owd  into 
lis  tuque, 


;k  would 
t  up  and 
jyond  the 
e  old  had 

>  the  dim 

1,  for  we 

est  hours 

It  strong, 

us  to  be 

f ;  Sandy, 

shaw,  all 

n  I  think 

I  Nelson, 

church- 

\.^  Lord 

the  mis- 

long  the 


Bound  to  Win  Series 


FOIL  BOY8 
58  Tltlet 


\ 


PRICE  75  CENTS  EACH 


THIS  n«'w  sorios  is  proving  the 
iintst  popular  lino  of  books 
forboys  puhlishrd  this  yojir. 
Look  at  tlu!  names  of  tiie  authors 
of  all  of  the  books  and  you  will 
8eo  (1<(^  reason: 
Algor,  Cooper.  Ellis.   Henty, 
Kingston,  Optio,  Reld,  Etc. 


W'lint  a  t'lilaxy  of  boys'  fnvoritos! 
Tht-y  iiro  priiitccl  from  new  plntoH,  on 
a  siiporior  ipiiility  ot"  ixijior  niul  bonud 
in  tlic  best  l)iii(i(Msclotli ;  titlostaitux'd 
on  buck  and  s-ido  in  tliroo  coU»rs  ink 
from  ai>pn>i)riiit<'  designs nmdo  onpoci- 
ally  for  t  his  sorius. 


1. 

2. 
S. 
4, 
5. 

e. 

7. 

8. 

9. 
10. 
11. 
12. 
13. 
14. 
15. 
10. 
17. 
18. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 
23. 
•>  • 

i5. 
20. 
27. 
28. 


Advonturos  Anion*?  thn 

Indians W.  H.<i.  KiniL'ston 

Afloat  in  tbe  Forest Roid 

All  Aboard Oliver  Optic 

AmoiiK  the  Malays lionty 

Hoat  (Jlub Oliver  ()i)tic 

Bounio  I'rinco  Cliarlio. Henty 

Round  to  Riso Al^er,  Jr. 

Koy  Knight  Tho lionty 

Rrave  and  Bold        Alp^r,  Jr. 
Bravest  of  tlie  Bravo.,  llcnty 

By  EuK'and's  Aid Henty 

Hy  Piko  and  Dyko Jlonty 

By  Sheer  Pluck  Honty 

Capt.  Bayley's  Heir Henty 

Cash  Boy, Tlio Alger,  Jr. 

Cast  Up  by  tho  Soa Baker 

Cornetof  Horso Henty 

Desert  Homo  —  Mayno  Reid 
For  Namo  and  Fame. . .  Henty 

For  tho  Temple Henty 

Friends  tho'  Divided. . .  Henty 

Gol'l'  .1  Canon Henty 

V    oof  Pine  Ridsre..  .Butler 

a  Freedom's  Cause...  Henty 

III  the  Reign  of  Terror,  llcnty 

III  Times  of  Peril     .   .  llcnty 

Jack  Archer Henty 

Jack  Harkaway's  School 
Days Hemyng 


29.  Jul  ins  the  Street  Boy.  Ak'er,  Jr 

80.  Lion  of  St.  Mark Henty 

8  J .  Lion  of  the  North Henty 

32.  Lone  Itanch Mayno  Roid 

33.  Now  or  Never..  .Oliver  Optic 

34.  One  of  the  2Htli ........  Henty 

35.  Out  on  tho  Pampas  —  Henty 

30.  Patldlnder.Fenimoro  Cooper 

37.  Paul  the  Peddler..  .AI»,'or,  Jr. 

38.  Pilot, The.. Fenimore  Cooper 
30.  Poor  and  Proud.  Oliver  Optic 

40.  Rifle  Ranpers Mayne'Roid 

41.  Ri.«en  from  tho  Ranks. .Al/arer 

42.  Robin.«on  Crusoe..  .D.  DoFoo 

43.  Scalp  Hunters..  .Mayne  Reid 

44.  Slow  and  Sure Alger.  Jr. 

45.  Star  of  India E.  S.  Ellis 

40.  Store  Boy.  The Alger.  Jr. 

47.  Strive  and  Succeed.  A  Igor,  Jr. 

48.  Strong  and  Steady    Alger,  Jr. 

49.  Sturdy  and  Stnmg Honty 

50.  Through  tho  Fray Henty 

51.  Try  Again Oliver  Optic 

52.  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.... Stowo 

53.  With  CI  ivo  in  India ....  Honty 

54.  Young  Buglers Henty 

55.  Young  Carthaginians.. Honty 
50.  Young  Colonists Henty 

57.  Young  Midshipman  ..  .Honty 

58.  Young  Outlaw,  The .  Alger,  Jr. 


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